One String
by Calculated Artificiality
Summary: Gillian receives a curious letter-Cal, of course, noses his way into the situation. Thus abounds fun, roadtrips and backstory! The secret is out, they're going to Gillian's high school reunion! COMPLETE.
1. Curious Letter

_A/N: Hello! Welcome to this fic! This is actually something I'd been wanting to write for years, albeit for different characters- then Cal and Gillian came along, and here we stand- or sit, as it were! I'll say more at the end of this chapter- I'll change the summary in later chapters to more accurately reflect what's going on, but since this first chapter rather hinges on not knowing, precisely, what is going on, I'm leaving it a bit of a mystery for now. Therefore, if you're joining the story in progress, I apologize!_

_Anyway!_

_Hope you have as much fun with this story as I'm having- more, if I'm lucky! ;)_

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Cal Lightman strode into the building of the Lightman Group with a spring in his step that had recently been absent. He felt in a good mood—and he'd had far too few of those as of late.

The reasons for his sour moods were plentiful—first, there was the fact that his daughter was nearly 18 and headed to college next year and she was looking at colleges located all the way on the other side of the country. Then there was the ever-present tension with his ex-wife which only seemed to be exacerbated by their daughter preparing to leave for college. However, perhaps the biggest reason for his foul moods stemmed from his relationship with his business partner and friend, Gillian Foster.

Their relationship had been rather off-kilter, lately, to say the least—but recently, they'd experienced a shift which had made him a decidedly happier individual. Something between them had changed—somehow fixed itself and things felt lighter between them when once they felt heavy—they were back to normal, and that fact alone did wonders to lift his spirits.

Cal said hello to his assistant with a smile and headed down the hallway to his office where he dropped his coat, picked up a case file and headed back out again.

He walked a little further down the hall way until he rounded the corner and saw his business partner through the glass walls of her office. She was clad in a red shirt, a black pencil skirt and sensible black heels that still somehow made her calves look amazing, even while she was sitting down. Cal smiled as he observed the way her body fit perfectly into her chair as she slumped over slightly, intently reading a piece of paper before her.

Cal didn't knock on the door. Instead, he nudged his way inside, "Hey, Foster," He said, "Could you take a look at this file for a minute?"

At the sound of his voice, Gillian's head shot up and Cal watched as anger passed over her face.

"Jesus, Cal!" She exclaimed, "Don't you ever knock?" She asked, fixing him with a stern look.

"No," He said, shrugging. Cal tilted his head in confusion. It was the truth; he never knocked, and Gillian never seemed to mind. He told her as much: "You never seemed to mind before." He said, matter-of-factly.

Gillian shifted slightly in her chair, pressing further down into it. Cal watched her body language with intense curiosity. Cal was, of course, always interested in her body language, but he was exceedingly curious because she was acting rather strangely.

"Well, today, I do." She said.

"Oh yeah?" Cal asked, squinting slightly at her, "Why?" He questioned, his head tilting to the left as he spoke.

Cal watched as Gillian's body tensed and her hand—the one closest to the paper on her desk—twitched almost imperceptibly.

Cal quirked an eyebrow. "What's on the paper, Gillian?" He asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

Gillian's eyes went wide and Cal knew immediately that he'd hit the proverbial nail on the proverbial head.

Gillian knew she'd been found out and she moved to cover the paper with both her hands. "Nothing." She said, her chin jutting out in defiance.

"Oh, really?" Cal said, inching closer to her desk.

"Really." She said with a slight nod.

"Oh, now _that's_ a lie." He observed as he tossed the case file down on her desk.

"Come on, now." He said, "What is it?" At her look, he smiled, "Something serious, then, yeah?"

Gillian pursed her lips, "Cal…" She said, her voice a warning. "No reading coworkers." She said, reminding him of their rule, her voice serious.

"Now you know I've never been a fan of that one, love." He said, "What's on the paper?" He asked again.

Cal watched as Gillian pressed her palms down harder on the paper. If Cal's interest had been caught earlier, it was absolutely piqued now and he made a move toward her. Anticipating the move—after all, she could read faces, too—Gillian folded her body over her desk so that she was protecting the paper on it with her torso. Cal lunged for the paper, but he came into contact with Gillian's shoulder instead.

"Cal!" She exclaimed, "Stop! This is highly unprofessional!" She said, but she was biting back laughter as she watched his face.

"So sue me." He said, and a devilish grin crossed his face. Before Gillian had a chance to react, Cal's hands were at her sides and he was moving his fingers back and forth.

Gillian dissolved into fits of giggles as Cal tickled her in what was one of her most ticklish spots. Cal's fingers kept it up, even as Gillian gasped for air—she had yet to relinquish the paper from her body's protective hold.

"Stop, Cal!" She said, barely able to get the words out, "Stop!" She repeated on an inhale as his fingers grazed a particularly sensitive spot.

"Not until I see what's on that paper, darling." Cal responded, laughing as he tickled her but also feeling an odd sense of arousal as she writhed under his touch. He'd often dreamt about Gillian writhing under his touch but under decidedly different circumstances.

Gillian fought for a few seconds longer, but ultimately the torture was too much and she yelled, "Fine!" as she sat upright in her chair.

Her sudden motion backward caused Cal's hand to graze her breast slightly and she inhaled sharply at the contact. Cal felt his arousal intensify as he heard the sound and as his brain registered what his hand had just brushed against.

His eyes shot to Gillian's face—but he couldn't tell whether the color that graced her cheeks was from the contact or simply because she had just been mercilessly tickled.

The truth was that the color on Gillian's face was a result of a mixture of both of those elements.

Cal cleared his throat and turned his attention to the paper in front of him. He picked it up and read the printed words. His eyebrows climbed a little higher as he read down the paper.

When he finished, he turned his gaze back to Gillian, whose coloring had returned to normal but who was still trying to catch her breath. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"Ah," Cal said, waving the paper lightly, "Something _very _serious."

Gillian rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back further in her chair. She glanced down at her lap and then returned her gaze to Cal who was, of course, studying her very intently.

"Are you going?" He asked, nodding toward the paper.

Gillian shook her head, "No." She said, "Absolutely not."

Cal smiled softly at her, "But," He said, "You're cordially invited."

Gillian laughed softly at his humor—"Even so," Her voice was quiet, "I'm not going."

Cal looked at her hard and Gillian watched as what could only be described as tenderness flickered across his face, "And why not?"

Gillian sighed and uncrossed her arms—she waved her hand in front of her face, "I don't see a point."

"Gillian." Cal said, setting the paper down on her desk, and inching closer to her. It was an awkward stance for him, but he was attempting to impart the gravity of the situation: "This is your twenty year high school reunion, love—don't you kind of _have _to go?"

Gillian shook her head, "No." She said, "I absolutely don't." At his look, Gillian sighed, "There's no point in me going, Cal—why should I go?" She asked, her shoulders rising slightly at the question.

Cal pressed his lips together and his eyes searched her face. He saw many things there—among them fear and, he thought, sadness. They confused him. "Why _shouldn't _you go?" He questioned, leaning against her desk.

"Cal, why would I go? To show off my divorce?" She asked, sarcasm dripping from her words, "Or my lack of family?" She said, her voice quieter—sadder as she looked at him, her eyes bright with many emotions—including anger.

Suddenly, Cal understood part of her reluctance to go; he sensed there was more. He offered her a sympathetic smile before he spoke gently, "No. To show off your brilliant career—your Ph.D., how _gorgeous_ you turned out to be." He said, waggling his eyebrows.

Gillian arched her eyebrow at him and she couldn't help but laugh in spite of herself at the face he made. She sighed heavily, and shook her head.

"You have to go, Gillian," He said again, curling his fingers around the edge of her desk.

"So, what?" She asked, "I'm just supposed to show up to my high school reunion—_alone_, I might add—and say 'Hello, everyone, I'm divorced, still single, no children to speak of'?" She asked, and Cal didn't miss the pained look that crossed her face.

He smiled at her, "Yes." He answered simply, "Except you'll need to show off your wonderful career, your degrees, your _research_." He offered, "And you don't go alone, you bring a date."

Cal nearly laughed at the expression that crossed her face—"A date, huh?"

Cal grinned. "Yep." He looked at her as silence fell between them. Rolling his eyes slightly, he said in an affected voice, "Why, thanks, Foster, I'd love to accompany you to your 20 year high school reunion."

Gillian's mouth fell open slightly, and she stumbled, "Uh, no." She said, shaking her head, "I don't think so. Thanks for the offer, but no thanks."

Cal smiled, "Foster, I wouldn't dream of denying you the opportunity to show off your fabulous business partner to all your high school mates." He said, grinning at her.

Still, she shook her head, "No way, Cal."

Cal laughed and decided to change tactics, "Why the fear, eh, Foster?" He leaned his head nearer to her face, "What were you like in high school, anyway?"

Cal watched as some nebulous emotion that he couldn't describe flittered across her face. He watched her swallow hard and he instantly realized that he'd unwittingly touched on something—or perhaps several something's—from her past. Were he not in the process of trying to convince her to do something she didn't want to do, he would've pressed the matter. Instead, he made a mental note to return to the look and the topic for answers at a later date.

Cal reached his hand out and touched her arm in a comforting gesture. "In all seriousness, Foster," He said, the backs of his fingers brushing her arm through the sleeve of her red shirt, "You have to go." He maintained eye contact with her and saw something flit across her gaze, "It'll be alright," He assured, "I'll be there with you." He said, offering a smile.

She sighed, and shook her head, a small smile ghosting her lips—it wasn't quite genuine, but it was on its way there, "Fine." She said, narrowing her eyes at him, "But I just know I'm going to regret this," She said, "In more ways than one," She added.

Cal tilted his head to the side, puzzled by her addendum to the statement, but he smiled at her anyway, "Great," He said, moving around to the other side of her desk. He slid the case file in front of her, "Now, can you please take a look at this for me, love?"

Gillian sighed in an exaggerated manner, "Boy," She said, "It's just favor after favor with you, isn't it?"

Cal walked to the door of her office, but before he crossed the threshold, he turned to face her. He waggled his eyebrows and leered slightly. "Oh, you have _no _idea, darling." He said, grinning at her—she shook her head and laughed at his innuendo, "No idea." He reiterated as he left her office and walked down the hall to his own.

When inside, Cal leaned back in his desk chair and considered the interaction that had just taken place in Foster's office. He was excited that he'd get to share this particular experience with her—but he was also intrigued. He knew little about Foster's past and based on the looks she flashed him in her office, this was going to be his opportunity to learn more—the thought made him happy and apprehensive all at once.

Back in her office, Gillian ran her fingers along the edges of the invitation to her high school reunion and wrestled with the same emotions. She was happy that she'd be spending time with Cal—although she'd long since chosen not to examine the reasons for _that _too closely. But she was worried, too—

Deciding to focus on the positive, Gillian smiled as she turned her attention to the case in front of her—after all, Cal would owe her a favor, now. Several, actually—the thought left her feeling warm as she recalled his earlier innuendo.

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TBC

_Next chapter is Roadtriptiems! Yay! _

_Also, I'm horrible at titling things- and short of calling this fic "Reunion," I had no idea what to do. ha._

_so:_

_"We cannot change our past. We cannot change the fact that people act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude." - Charles R. Swindoll_


	2. Road Trip!

_A/N: In honor of Lie to Me winning a PCA and TR winning one, too- here is chapter two of this fic! _

_Also, a thank you to gidget89, without whom this chapter LITERALLY would not have happened. I was totally just going to skip over the roadtrip, when she was like AW, I WANTED TO SEE IT! sooooo... here it is! _

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Cal pulled up to Gillian's house at one PM. Getting out of his car, he did his best to calm the nerves that were threatening to settle and campout in his stomach.

Steadying his trepidation as best he could, he knocked three times on the door. A jean-clad Foster opened the door. He smiled as he greeted her, "Hello."

She eyed him suspiciously, wary of his exceedingly friendly tone, "Hello." She returned, the edges of her lips curling into a slight smile.

"You ready?" Cal peered around her door to see a single suitcase, light teal in color, sitting on her hardwood floor.

"As I'll ever be." Gillian said, her voice expressive of the exasperation she felt. Never mind the six hour drive they were about to embark upon, she was none too thrilled to be going back to her hometown to visit people and a version of herself she had long since left behind. It was more than an awkward teenage existence that defined the chapter of her life she spent in Hartford, Connecticut. It was a conglomeration of experiences that, for better or worse, but mostly for worse, still plagued her in the present.

Cal grinned at her—he supposed he should feel badly about dragging her on this journey—and perhaps he would eventually, but at the moment, he was looking at spending six hours alone in a car with a casual yet extremely sexy Gillian Foster. He just couldn't get much beyond that—let alone could he let himself feel badly for it. "Right," Cal said, clapping his hands together lightly, "I'll just grab this, then." He leaned past her and retrieved the suitcase, as he straightened out he caught the familiar scent of raspberry and his nostrils flared as his jeans suddenly got a bit tighter.

Clearing his throat, suddenly aware of the tension between them, Cal headed to his car, popped his trunk and laid Gillian's suitcase next to his small black one.

By the time he was finished, Gillian had locked her door and was walking down the path. Cal grinned at her over the top of his vehicle before sliding into the driver's seat.

As they pulled onto the interstate, Cal took the liberty of stealing a glance at Gillian out of the corner of his eye. The denim she wore was dark and fit her perfectly. Cal had spent enough years admiring her figure to be able to aptly appreciate the way the denim accentuated her assets. Her shirt was a simple light pink v-neck t-shirt, and her hair was up in a ponytail, displaying an expanse of her creamy skin. Cal took particular notice of her collar bone—and he imagined planting soft kisses there. Startled at the way his train of thought had veered off into the sexual—as it usually did with Gillian Foster—Cal brought his eyes back to her face. Her gold aviator sunglasses shielded her eyes from the sun, so Cal could only imagine the depth of worry and apprehension they held.

With an inaudible sigh, Cal gripped the steering wheel harder and faced the road in front of him.

The silence they drove in for the next hour was companionable. There was no tension between them, no pressure to talk about mundane things like the weather or current events. Truthfully, the way they could just _be _together was one of Cal's favorite aspects of their relationship. Truthfully, it was one of Gillian's favorite, too.

They'd driven 71.5 miles according to the odometer Cal had reset in front of Gillian's house before Cal broke the silence.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and attempted to adopt a tone of nonchalance, "So…" He said, and he saw Gillian turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye, "What _were_ you like in high school?" He asked.

A smile played on her lips—"What do _you_ think I was like in high school, Cal?" She questioned.

Cal considered her question—He'd been trying to decide for days on end what Gillian had been like in high school. His guesses ran the gamut from cheerleader to drama club kid—after all, he'd seen Gillian's legs and he'd also seen her lie very, very well. Cal blinked—he knew he had to say something if he actually hoped to get an answer. She'd undoubtedly make him guess anyway before telling him. He cleared his throat, "Let's see…" he said, tapping his index finger against the wheel, "Prom queen?" He grinned at her.

Gillian scoffed, "Ha. Flattery does not suit you, Cal Lightman," Gillian shook her head, wrinkling her nose in mock disgust.

"It was a serious guess!" He said.

Gillian bit her lip, "Uh-huh," She said, her tone expressing her disbelief, deciding that he really _was_ serious and torn between being flattered and offended, Gillian answered him, "Well, no. Hardly." She smiled, "Any other guesses?" She asked.

Cal sighed, "I don't know, Foster. You could've been anything, really." He said, his tone thoughtful.

"Anything?" She asked, humor in her voice.

"Sure," He laughed, "You're smart and gorgeous," He said, leaning slightly toward her and waggling his eyebrows, "amongst other things."

Gillian quirked an eyebrow at him and shook her head, laughing slightly.

"Well?" He asked into the momentary silence that had settled between them.

Gillian shifted in her seat, "I suppose I was a little bit of quite a few high school types," She said.

"Oh?" Cal inquired, his curiosity getting the best of him.

Gillian sighed, "Well, I was in all the Academic clubs—officers in them, too," She said, and Cal smiled—of course she was—"And I played basketball." She said, folding her hands in her lap.

Cal couldn't control the expression of shock that passed over his face, "You played basketball?" He asked. Gillian nodded, "But…" He trailed off, glancing at her and then back at the road, "Aren't you a little…_short_…to have played basketball?" Cal asked.

He wasn't expecting it when Gillian reached out and smacked him lightly on the arm, "For your information," She said, bringing her hand back in her lap, "I was _very _good." She said—then she chuckled, "I had to practice twice as hard as the other girls to get that good, but I got there," She said, smiling, "MVP junior and senior year," She said—

"Wow, Foster," Cal said, smiling, "Your mum and dad must have been very proud." Cal said, and he chanced a glance at her. He watched her jaw tense slightly, and even though he couldn't see her eyes, he read the rest of her face and knew he'd touched on a sensitive subject. He'd guessed it would be sensitive—her reaction only confirmed his suspicion, "What is it, Foster?" He asked, his voice full of concern.

Gillian pressed her back into the seat of the car and folded her arms over her chest, "I didn't say anything, Cal." She said, pressing her lips together.

"Yes, you did." He said, his voice gentle.

Gillian sighed heavily—"I didn't." She affirmed, "Not really—" She reached her hand out and pressed the button for the radio, "Damnit, Cal," She breathed, "I've asked you not to do that," She said, her voice quiet and serious.

Cal nodded, "I know, Foster," He said—he dropped his head slightly, "But I can't help it." He shrugged, "I care—I care, so I push." He said, matter-of-factly.

Gillian sighed, "I know." She admitted, "I know." She repeated, her voice gentler, "But…" She sighed, "Not right now." She said, turning the volume up slightly.

Cal nodded again, "Alright, darling." He said. Suddenly, Cal's attention was drawn to his speakers and the noise coming from them "Bloody hell! What _is _that?" He asked, looking at Gillian.

Leaning forward, listening intently to the sound coming from the speaker, static mingling with the noise, Gillian wrinkled her nose—"I don't know," She said—

"Well, it's bloody _awful_." Cal said, his tone conveying his disdain.

Gillian laughed, "Yeah—it really is—"

"Well, change it!" Cal said.

Gillian chuckled, "This is the only station that'll come through." She said, not moving to fiddle with the dial.

"Well, then turn it off!" Cal said, as the noise assaulted his ears.

Gillian laughed—it really was awful, but she also enjoyed the pained look on Cal's face and couldn't resist the urge to torture him a bit more, "I want to see who this is." She said, shrugging lightly.

Cal turned to look at her and narrowed his eyes—well aware of what she was doing—"You're evil." He said, simply, before turning back to face the road.

Gillian grinned at him.

"The things that pass for _music _these days, I swear," Cal grumbled.

Just then, the gravelly voice of a radio DJ broke through the static and over the end of the song—"And that was Justin Bieber singing _Baby_,"

Cal's eyes widened, "That was a _boy_?" He asked, his tone incredulous.

Gillian sat up in her seat, "Oh yeah! I've heard of this kid!" She said, "pre-teens everywhere are in love with him!" She said, laughing at Cal's expression.

"I never thought I'd say this, but thank _God_ Emily is almost eighteen," Cal said, shaking his head. "And point taken, love. I'll try not to read you for the rest of the drive," He said, smiling at her, "Now, can we please put some _real _music on?" He asked.

Laughing lightly, Gillian pulled a CD out of Cal's center console and popped it in the player. The mood seemed to relax as the sounds of Miles Davis flooded the car.

They stopped to have a late lunch halfway through their journey—some small sandwich place somewhere, and during the fourth hour, Cal pulled off the interstate to get gas. They pulled up to a gas station, and Cal began filling up the car. Gillian went inside to use the restroom, and Cal followed her into the establishment (but not the restroom) after he finished pumping the gas.

He walked in to see Gillian buying a bag of pretzels and a candy bar. He chuckled and grabbed a bottle of iced tea and placed it on the counter. After he paid for it, he turned around to see Gillian looking through her wallet—Cal couldn't help but notice the disappointment etched on her face as she dug through the coin section of her purse.

Cal turned his head to the side, "Alright, love?" He asked, an amused smile on his face. She looked adorable.

She looked up at him, "Huh?" She asked, ceasing her search momentarily, "Oh, yeah." She said, before looking back at her wallet.

Cal wondered what on earth she was doing, when he glanced behind her and realization dawned on him—he stared at her in disbelief, "Oh, you have _got _to be kidding me." Cal said, amusement evident in his voice.

Gillian looked up at him again, "What?" She said, her mouth parting slightly.

Cal looked behind her and then looked at her face again, arching an eyebrow, "_Seriously_, Gillian?" He asked.

Gillian bit her lip and looked at him before she blushed slightly—she turned around and looked at the array of machines situated behind her—"I wanted a gumball," She said, her voice quiet—"But I don't have a quarter." She said, snapping her wallet shut.

Cal rolled his eyes and then grinned at her. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a quarter and handed it to her. Pretending he thought her quite silly, he placed it in her open palm as she beamed at him and turned around to the machine. Cal watched as she leaned down and placed the quarter in the machine and turned it three times—he heard the clink of the gumball hitting the metal, and he had to smile. The woman never ceased to amaze him—the childlike qualities she possessed would annoy him in anyone else. On her, he found them rather endearing.

Cal was about to walk out of the store when he saw the look of disappointment return to Gillian's face, "What's wrong now?" He asked.

She looked at him, "Nothing," She said—he arched an eyebrow at her, "It's blue." She said, looking at him quickly and then casting her eyes back down to the gumball in her hand.

"It's blue?" He repeated, but turned it into a question.

Gillian laughed lightly, "I wanted red." She said, matter-of-factly.

Cal sighed, "Of course you did," He said as he reached into his pocket and fished out another quarter. Gillian grinned at him as she took it from him and repeated the process.

Cal heard her breathe a slight 'yes,' as she opened the metal door to reveal the gumball. Chuckling he pushed the door of the convenient store open and headed toward the car, Gillian trailing, gumballs in hand, behind him. _That woman_, he thought, shaking his head, a smile playing on his face.

* * *

It was hour five when Gillian opened her pretzels. Cal heard the sound of the bag rustling as she pulled it open and reached her hand inside. He watched as her delicate hands placed a mini pretzel in her mouth.

Cal expected to hear chewing. When he didn't, he looked at Gillian to find her cheeks dented in—

"What on earth are you doing?" He asked her, arching an eyebrow at her.

She didn't respond right away—it took her a good thirty seconds before she began chewing. After she had finished, she looked at him. "I'm eating pretzels." She said, matter-of-factly, reaching into the bag and popping another pretzel into her mouth. Cal watched as she repeated the process.

"No, you're not." He said, "I'm not sure what you're doing—but that's not how you eat pretzels."

Gillian smiled, "No, that's not how _you _eat pretzels." She said, laughing lightly.

"Okay," Cal conceded, "Really though, darling, what are you doing?"

Gillian looked at him and Cal watched as a mischievous expression passed over her face—"I like to suck on them first," She said, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing at the expression that crossed Cal's face.

"I'm sorry, what?" Cal said, his tone containing amusement and something flirtier than that.

Gillian sighed, "You heard me, Cal." She said, popping another pretzel into her mouth and sucking on it—"Makes it soft."

Cal nodded—and swallowed, hard. He wasn't quite sure what had possessed him to say it. He and Gillian had certainly had their flirtatious moments, but they'd been rather few and far in between lately. Truthfully, he rather missed them. Perhaps the image of Gillian Foster sucking on something—anything, really—was too much for him. Whatever it was, Cal smirked.

"Oh," He said, "Like to suck on hard things to make them soft, do you?" Innuendo was dripping from his voice, and he eyed Gillian—he watched the blush creep up her neck and settle onto her face, turning her creamy skin into a particularly lovely shade of crimson. He adored making her blush and he chuckled at the thought.

Gillian repeated the process, popping another pretzel into her mouth—Cal had thought she was going to let it go—that his innuendo would get him a blush and nothing more.

Finally, Gillian smiled at him, "Yep." She said, in answer to his question, "And then I swallow." She said, reaching into the bag and retrieving another pretzel.

Cal's mouth immediately went dry—the innuendo certainly did not elude him and Gillian struggled to contain her laughter as she watched the look on Cal's face.

Cal, on the other hand, felt the blood go in quite a different direction than Gillian's had—Cal's blood did not make its way to his face at Gillian's comments—as he thought about every damn thing that would possibly entail—years of his pent up fantasies coming true—no, instead, Cal's blood traveled decidedly downward, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, gripping the steering wheel even tighter than before.

For her part, Gillian continued eating her pretzels, with a small smile on her face. But Cal's reaction did not go unnoticed, and the obvious look of desire that flashed on his face caused a stirring in her stomach that traveled immediately lower and she bit her lip to stifle a moan.

Settling into her seat, Gillian reached out and turned the volume of the radio up—she liked the banter between them, the sexual innuendo. She'd always liked it, actually, but she was particularly thankful for it in that particular instance because it took her mind—at least for a little while—away from thinking about the impending weekend and the many ways her universe might implode at this god-awful reunion.

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_TBC_

_YOU'RE WELCOME FOR THE BIEBER BASHING._

_Also, YES. People DO eat pretzels like that. I know because ~I~ eat pretzels like that! _

_k. GIMME A PCA! or a review, whatevs, I'm easy. ;)  
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	3. Arrival

_A/N: Hello! Your reviews make my day; particularly as inspiration has been waning lately. Immensely._

_Anywaaaaaay- here is chapter three of this fic!_

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Thirty seven minutes after the sixth hour, Cal and Gillian arrived.

Cal had considered asking about her reluctance to go to her high school reunion; he'd seen it from her every step of the way—from the moment she opened the door with a sad little smile, he could tell she wasn't looking forward to the event. Perhaps he shouldn't have pushed her to attend, but it was too late now, and despite how badly he wanted to know whatever story she wasn't telling him, he decided that a six hour car ride was not the ideal time to push her sensitive buttons.

Cal tipped the valet and guided Gillian through the automatic doors of the hotel lobby with a hand on her lower back. She smiled at the contact, and he returned the smile.

"Feel good to be back, love?" He asked as they headed toward the front desk.

Gillian scrunched her nose and shrugged lightly, "It feels weird to be back," She said with a slight chuckle.

"Fair enough," Cal led the way to an open slot at the reception desk where he was greeted with a boy that couldn't have been older than twenty five.

The young man greeted them with a smile that wasn't quite genuine, but still polite, "How may I help you?"

Cal returned the polite smile, "Reservations under the name Lightman," Cal said, taking out his wallet, preparing to hand the young man the necessary items.

The man had sandy blond hair and he looked between Cal and Gillian—Cal watched as the young man's eyes lingered on Gillian and his pupils dilated slightly. Cal couldn't help but chuckle as he watched Gillian avert her gaze and blush slightly. It was a response to Gillian he was used to seeing—the male response—and sometimes it irked Cal to no end, particularly when it was the _competition_ giving it. However, the blond boy was hardly what Cal would call competition, so he found it amusing, instead.

"Ah, okay Mr. and Mrs. Lightman," the young man, Derek by his nametag, said, and Cal opened his mouth to correct him, but stopped short when he saw how deeply Gillian was blushing. It certainly wasn't the first time the mistake had been made, but Cal had never taken the time to notice Gillian's reaction. He found it endearing and when she didn't make the move to correct Derek, Cal didn't either. It was harmless enough—besides, he'd understand when the reservations came up as two separate rooms.

Derek began typing into his computer, and after a minute or two, he printed out a document—"Right, I'll just need a credit card, then." He said, looking at Cal, who pulled one out of his wallet. He'd already discussed with Gillian that he would be paying for the room since he was practically forcing her to go to the reunion. Handing his American Express card over, Cal smiled at Gillian—and she returned the smile with a light shake of her head that seemed to say _I still can't believe I'm doing this_.

Derek took the card, swiped it through his machine and then put two keys and a few brochures on the surface in front of him—"You'll be in room 728," Derek said, his gaze flicking back and forth between Cal and Gillian.

Cal raised an eyebrow at the young man—"The reservations for two rooms, actually." Cal said, leaning over the counter.

Derek looked uncomfortable all of a sudden, "Oh…" He said, his voice taking on a note of realization.

Cal rolled his eyes—"We're not married," He said pointedly, "We're business partners and we need separate rooms."

Derek shot Cal a look that seemed to say _sorry to hear that, man_, and Cal shot him one back that was in the vicinity of _you and me, both_. And Cal couldn't help but chuckle when Derek looked at Gillian with a new sort of appreciation—

"Oh, okay," Derek said, and began immediately typing on the keyboard again. He squinted at the screen, scrolled down and then typed some more. He repeated this process several times before he finally looked up from his computer screen and fixed Cal and Gillian with pursed lips and a look of disappointment on his face. "I am _so _sorry," he said, dragging out the word 'so,' so as to convey his regret appropriately, "But, we're all booked up—there's a big conference going on here this weekend, and we just don't have any more rooms left."

Gillian and Cal both looked at Derek in disbelief—"You've _got _to be joking," Gillian said, her voice tired.

Derek looked at her and said gravely, "No, miss, no joke."

Cal would have chuckled at the look he gave Gillian—one mirroring a puppy dog, Cal imagined, who had done something blameworthy but didn't want to get in trouble for it—but he was too tired and upset.

"You're absolutely sure?" Cal asked.

Derek typed some more and then nodded. "Yes, sir. Absolutely."

Cal sighed and looked at Gillian—he arched his eyebrow, "Well?"

She looked at him, "There are hundreds of hotels in Hartford," She said, matter-of-factly.

Cal shrugged and fixed a look on his face that he was actually quite proud of. He was proud of it because he managed to look as though sharing a hotel room with Gillian Foster would put him out in some form or another—well, if circumstances were right, he'd certainly put out—but, it would in no way put him out to have to spend every waking (and slumbering) moment of this weekend with her.

"It's up to you, darling." Cal said, secretly hoping she'd be too tired to go in search of other lodging.

She looked at Cal and pursed her lips—then, she turned to Derek, "Are there, by any chance, two beds in that room?" She asked.

Derek squinted at his computer and then looked at Gillian, "Yes." He said, nodding once.

"Then we'll take it." Gillian said, as she walked away from the counter, somewhat exasperated.

Cal said a silent thank you to six hour drives before he picked the key and paperwork up from the counter and then leaned in closer to Derek, "Say, Derek," Cal said, his voice unusually quiet, "I understand this little mix up wasn't your fault, but—" Cal trailed off and looked behind him to make sure Gillian wasn't paying any attention—she wasn't, so Cal continued, "You see that lovely lady over there?" Cal indicated Gillian with his head.

Derek swallowed and nodded, "Yes, sir."

Cal laughed, "I know you do—well, she just so happens to _love _desserts—all sorts of them, really," Cal said, waving his hand around to convey the spectrum of desserts Gillian Foster enjoyed—

Derek's pupils dilated slightly, "Okay?" He said, his voice tight.

"So, what I was wondering is—because of this little mix up, what do you think the possibilities are, Derek, that we could get some _complimentary_ dessert this weekend?"

Derek smiled at the man in front of him. While he wasn't high up on the food chain, he did have the authority to make certain decisions using his discretion. He looked at the woman in front of him and his eyes traveled up and down her body—and then his gaze shifted to the man in front of him who was, actually, quite nice. He hadn't gotten upset or yelled when his reservation was wrong which was a nice change from the usual fits people tended to throw when things didn't turn out right. Derek appreciated that.

Derek leaned forward—"Well," he said, glancing between Gillian, who was looking at a piece of art on the wall and Cal, who was smiling, "I'll make a note here—you'll get complimentary desserts the entire weekend," Derek said, "Anything she wants." He added, smiling at Cal.

"Perfect, Derek," Cal said, as he reached to shake the young man's hand and then he joined Gillian by the artwork.

As they stepped into the elevator, Gillian sighed, "I can't _believe_ this," She said as she reached out and pressed the button that would get them to the seventh floor, "It's an omen," She said, shaking her head.

Cal chuckled, "I never realized you were so superstitious, love."

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him, "I'm not—but it is." She said, her voice serious.

Cal laughed, "Oh, I don't know about that…" He trailed off and looked at her—Gillian's eyes were focused on the ticker that told them which floor they were currently on, "Sometimes things happen for a _reason_," He said.

Something about the tone in his voice made her snap her head to look at him—it sounded—well, downright suggestive. She quirked an eyebrow at him and couldn't control the surprise that passed over her face.

As the elevator doors opened on floor seven, Cal looked at her over his shoulder as he stepped into the hall—"You'll see," He said, raising his eyebrows.

Gillian followed him slowly out of the elevator. "Oh, I will?" She asked as they headed down the hallway to their room.

Cal didn't turn around to answer—he just walked confidently down the hall until he came to a stop in front of room 728.

* * *

They'd settled into their room and Gillian was sitting on her bed—the one nearest the window, with the comforter pulled back as she didn't trust the cleanliness even in nice hotels like the one they were staying in—flipping through a worn copy of one of three novels she'd brought with her on the trip. Cal was sitting on his bed, his laptop on his lap, his glasses adorning his face.

They were engulfed in a comfortable silence, each buried in his or her own thoughts. Gillian's eyes scanned the pages of her novel, but she didn't absorb anything—her thoughts were elsewhere, as were Cal's for that matter.

Suddenly, an iChat window popped up on Cal's screen—he smiled when he saw who it was from.

Emily (10:01:23): Hi, Dad!  
CLightman (10:01:28): hey em  
Emily (10:01:37): How's Connecticut?  
CLightman (10:02:13): don't really know yet. saw lots of roads today. those are nice, i suppose.  
Emily (10:02:20): Cool. How's Gill?  
CLightman (10:02:52): she's…alright. she's reading a book right now.  
Emily (10:03:04): You guys are in the same room?  
CLightman (10:03:27): hey now, there was a mix up with the reservations, hotel was booked. none of that now.  
Emily (10:03:48): Whatever. Are you guys sharing a bed?  
CLightman (10:04:10): em…  
Emily (10:04:19): What? Simple question.  
CLightman (10:04:36): no. i've got my own bed, and she's got hers.  
Emily (10:04:51): Bummer.  
Emily (10:05:29): Haha! You're thinking the exact same thing!  
Emily (10:05:48): Tell her I say hi!  
CLightman (10:06:00): ok, love.  
Emily (10:06:12): No, like right now. Tell her now.  
CLightman (10:06:40): ok. she says hi.  
Emily (10:06:59): Liar. You didn't tell her. Tell. Her. Now.  
CLightman (10:07:11): fine.

Cal looked up from his computer screen—he glanced at Foster, her nose still in the book, "Emily says hi." He said, smiling at her.

Gillian turned her head to look at him and smiled—the sides of her eyes crinkled and she laughed lightly, "Tell her I say hi back."

Cal nodded, and smiled at her before he turned back to his computer and began typing.

CLightman (10:08:51): she says hi back.  
Emily (10:09:12): GOOD. I knew you didn't tell her.  
CLightman (10:09:29): of course you did. how's your mum?  
Emily (10:10:15): She's fine, I guess. She's been working a lot on her new case. She says to tell Gill good luck.  
CLightman (10:10:43): very funny.  
Emily (10:10:59): lol! Well, she could've said that.  
CLightman (10:11:11): right.  
Emily (10:11:38): So…have you asked Gill yet why she's so nervous?  
CLightman (10:12:21): you just can't keep your nose out of other people's business, can you?  
Emily (10:12:58): Nope. Wonder where I learned that…?  
CLightman (10:13:21): you've got a mouth on you, young lady…  
Emily (10:13:45): See previous response. :)  
Emily (10:14:08): Well, are you going to ask her?  
CLightman (10:14:24): eventually.  
Emily (10:15:12): …  
CLightman (10:15:37): that's all you're getting.  
CLightman (10:16:01): stop pouting.  
Emily (10:16:27): Fine. But do it soon.  
Emily (10:16:59): And I'm glad you're there with her.  
Emily (10:17:23): High School is rough.  
Emily (10:17:54): And, you might want to consider using this weekend to your advantage.  
CLightman (10:18:36): and what, exactly, does that mean?  
Emily (10:18:58): YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS.  
Emily (10:19:04): TELL HER.  
CLightman (10:19:21): don't start that again, darling.  
CLightman (10:19:56): some things you just don't understand.  
Emily (10:20:11): Psh. Some things YOU don't understand, Dad.  
Emily (10:20:47): FINE. But don't come crying to me when it's too late.  
CLightman (10:21:31): noted. now, go to bed, love.  
Emily (10:21:40): Alright.  
Emily (10:21:49): Tell Gill I say goodnight.

Cal looked up at Gillian, still reading her book—

"Emily says goodnight." He said, and a rather sheepish look came across his face—he felt silly relaying messages from his daughter, "She's making me tell you," He nodded toward the computer.

All embarrassment he felt slipped away when he saw the look that came across Gillian's face—he couldn't quite get a read on precisely what it was, but it melted his heart—and, in fact, that's kind of what it looked like on her, too—that her heart was melting.

Gillian smiled, "Tell her I say goodnight." She said, simply.

Cal turned his attention back to the computer screen.

CLightman (10:23:41): she says goodnight. and yes. i really told her.  
Emily (10:24:02): Okay, good. Now, one more thing?  
CLightman (10:24:25): …what?  
Emily (10:24:40): Tell her  
Emily (10:24:43): That  
Emily (10:24:55)**:** You LOVE her  
Emily (10:25:03): And that you can't live without her!

(10:25:05 Emily has signed off)

Finally, clearing his throat, Cal looked over at Gillian, "So," He asked, bending his computer so that it was half closed, indicating that she had his attention now, "What's on the agenda for tomorrow, love?" Cal asked, his voice innocent.

Gillian glanced at him from the corner of her eye, still holding the book in front of her. "I don't know…" She said, clearly suspicious of his tone. She had known Cal Lightman well enough to recognize that particular tone.

Cal leaned his head back against the headboard and pinched the bridge of his nose—he took a beat before he spoke, "Isn't there a luncheon or something tomorrow…?" Cal's gaze returned to Gillian's face and he watched as annoyance passed across it.

Gillian sighed and shut her book, placing it in her lap—"I am _not_ going to that luncheon tomorrow," She said, her tone stern.

Cal threw up his hands in a defensive gesture, "Alright, it just sounded like it might be fun."

Gillian narrowed her eyes at him. "It won't. And I'm not going, Saturday will be bad enough, thank you very much," She said, her tone indicating that she blamed him for it all—"We'll explore the city tomorrow—maybe go to some museums or something." Gillian said, staring at him.

"Alright," Cal nodded, accepting the finality with which she spoke. "Sounds lovely," He said, sincerely.

He turned his attention back to his computer, but he kept glancing at Gillian who kept her book shut—she was nestled back on the pillows, in her pajamas which were pink with white clouds on them and absolutely adorable, chewing on her bottom lip. She was clearly deep in thought, and Cal could tell by the deep furrow in her brow that the thoughts weren't entirely positive.

Cal reached over to the nightstand situated in between the two beds, "Hey, I know what will make you feel better," He said, and Gillian turned to look at him—he picked the room service menu up and tossed it on the bed next to her legs—she quirked an eyebrow at him, "Dessert." He said, grinning at her.

She tried to look serious and disinterested, but she was unable to hide the excitement that flashed across her face. Her hand twitched and Cal knew she wanted to pick up the menu—

"Go on," He said, "Order anything you want."

She picked up the menu and thumbed through it—Cal could see her eyes widen as she took in the expanse of the menu-"These desserts are ridiculously expensive, Cal," Gillian said.

"Doesn't matter," Cal said, grinning, "It's on the house—" At her questioning gaze, he shrugged, "For our little mix up," He gestured between them.

A slow smile spread across Gillian's mouth—one that reached her eyes, and Cal was glad to see it. He'd only seen half smiles or else entirely fake ones since they'd begun their journey—"How did you…?" She asked, her voice betraying her delight.

Cal chuckled, "Well, love, it wasn't so much _me_," He said, and Gillian looked at him, a confused expression settling on her features—"As it was _you_," He said, emphasizing the word and allowing his gaze to run over the length of her body. She colored under his gaze, but Cal could tell she still didn't understand, "Derek." Cal said simply, and Gillian laughed lightly, "The boy liked what he saw," Cal said, his voice containing amusement and something darker than that—"Can't blame him, really," Cal said, his voice rougher than it needed to be.

Gillian felt her skin go hot as her body tingled—Cal was looking at her with what she could only describe as longing, and she laughed nervously as she returned her gaze to the menu—"Everything happens for a reason," She said, echoing his earlier words, finally understanding what they meant. Although she guessed (and guessed correctly) that he had another meaning in mind, as well. "I'll take the strawberry shortcake," She said, snapping the menu closed and setting it back on the nightstand.

Cal smiled at her and picked up the phone to dial room service. After he'd ordered, he opened his computer again and buried himself in his thoughts. Gillian opened her book and looked slightly more relaxed, which pleased Cal—but he could still tell something was wrong—

He'd try to poke at whatever it was tomorrow, scratch the surface at least—when he heard the knock at the door, he got up to answer it—this weekend, he was certain, would be very telling.

* * *

_TBC_


	4. Getting Prepared

_A/N: You guys are awesome and lovely and here is chapter 4 (brief though it might be).  
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Gillian stood gazing at herself in the mirror of the hotel room. The silence around her hummed with nervous energy she was certain had begun to seep into the walls of the neighboring rooms by now. As she stared at herself and took a steadying breath that would have been particularly revealing to her business partner, she was thankful that Cal had left the room for an hour and a half so that she could get ready in peace.

Gillian ran a shaky hand through her hair before facing herself in the mirror once again. Shaking her head lightly at her own reflection, she felt the past—her past—nestle itself in her stomach. She couldn't believe she'd let Cal talk her into this.

_He didn't have to try very hard, Gillian_, the voice inside her said—Gillian sighed and shook her head. Of course Cal hadn't had to try very hard; and of course he didn't think twice about shoving.

Just then, she heard a light knock at the door and Cal's voice came with it, "Alright?"

Gillian squeezed her eyes shut as a wave of nausea passed over her, "Alright." She responded, her voice steadier than she thought it would be.

Cal slid his key into the door and Gillian heard the lock click—she opened her eyes and fixed what she hoped was a convincing—rather than pained—smile on her face.

Cal came through the door holding a small brown paper bag. He let the door shut behind him and tossed his key on the counter to his left before he took sight of Gillian.

When he did, his entire body stilled. His gaze ran up her length—she was wearing a black dress that fit her well in all the right places, a pale teal belt cinched the waist and a light pink cardigan covered her shoulders. Cal inhaled sharply as his gaze dragged up the length of her legs—an expanse of which was afforded to his blessed sight by the hemline of the dress.

Gillian watched Cal staring at her slack-jawed and she found herself immediately self-conscious.

While she could read faces, her nerves seemed to have taken their toll on her ability—she furrowed her brow—"Do I look alright?"

Gillian's voice startled Cal and he cleared his throat—Did she look alright?—Cal took in her appearance one more time—she looked downright delectable, as a matter of fact. The dress was sexy—or, rather, sexy with her in it, and the cardigan and belt asserted Gillian's trademarked elegance which Cal had long since counted as chief among her desirable attributes.

Cal grinned at her, "Alright?" He nodded, "You look bloody amazing." He said, his tone heavy.

Gillian smiled at him and colored slightly. Cal felt his knees nearly buckle beneath him. He loved seeing Gillian like this—in real life as opposed to work.

She shrugged, "The pink isn't…" Her voice trailed off, she was searching for the right word.

Cal shook his head—"The pink is perfect." He said, his voice tender—"And pink makes you happy." He said, humor in his eyes.

Gillian grinned at him—"So you _were_ paying attention."

Cal laughed at that, "I always do."

Gillian fixed him with a skeptical look—"Uh huh." She remarked, folding her hands over her chest. She noticed, then, with slight awe, the way the nerves in her stomach had calmed a little. She felt lighter somehow; apparently pink wasn't the only thing that made her happy. "What's that?" She cocked her head to the side and indicated the bag he was holding.

Stepping further into the room, Cal smiled, "This," he said, holding up the bag, "contains presents." His eyebrows waggled.

"Presents?" Gillian said, her voice betraying her curiosity.

Cal nodded. "Presents." he confirmed, as he held the bag out to her.

Gillian took it and headed over to the desk. She sat down and Cal watched as she gingerly opened the bag and extracted its contents.

Gillian laughed as realization swept over her. Folded up neatly in white wax paper was a huge chocolate covered strawberry. In its own wax paper was an apple covered in caramel. Gillian turned to face Cal, "What're these for?" She asked, smiling lightly.

Cal shrugged—"For eating." He said, then grinned at her, "I saw them and I thought of you."

Gillian's eyes shone—"Thanks, Cal."

Cal nodded before he headed over to his suitcase. Unzipping it, he fixed her with a serious stare, "Those presents," he said, rifling around in his suitcase, "are conditional, they are."

Gillian regarded him with confusion and a slight bit of suspicion—"Conditional?" Cal nodded. Gillian narrowed her eyes, "Conditional upon _what_, Cal?" She inquired.

"Well," Cal said with a flourish, "seeing as I was kind enough to buy you these treats from a lovely bakery down the street run by the nicest elderly woman you've ever met in your life," he walked over to the bathroom door, "seems only _fair_ that I should be able to watch you enjoy them." He said, matter-of-factly.

Gillian quirked her eyebrow, "I have to eat them in front of you?" She asked, humor evident in her tone. She shook her head lightly and then smiled.

Cal grinned, "Something like that, yeah." He leered slightly. Gillian rolled her eyes even as she felt her stomach do a little flip flop of arousal. "My turn, yeah?" Cal said, as he slipped inside the bathroom.

As Gillian heard the shower begin to run, she smiled to herself—if she had to do this, she was grateful that Cal would be accompanying her—she smiled as she got up and walked to the window of the hotel room. As she looked down on the city, she wrapped her arms around herself in a self-comforting gesture—she heard Cal humming as he showered—chuckling, she flicked on the TV and muted it—

As Cal's voice hit her ears, her sense of dread lessened considerably.

* * *

_Thanks again for all of your lovely feedback. It is just lovely. I've been sick as of late, so have not had a chance to respond properly. Apologies._


	5. Welcome

_A/N: Thank you for all of your lovely reviews, they absolutely make my day._

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Gillian wrung her hands nervously in the backseat of the taxicab as she felt a fresh wave of nausea overtake her. She took a steadying breath and then she felt Cal's warm, comforting touch through her cardigan and she smiled lightly.

"It's okay." His voice was gentle, "Just breathe, darling."

Gillian wrung her hands tighter, fighting nerves from both ends now—she was nervous to see her old classmates, but she was also nervous because there were things she'd never told Cal. There were things she'd thought—and hoped—she'd never have to tell Cal.

She turned her head to observe Cal, who was looking particularly handsome. He was wearing his trademark black, but there was something different about it—a certain effort he had made, and she appreciated it.

Gillian sighed, but the expelling of breath did nothing to calm her down.

After all, riding between herself and Cal in the backseat of the yellow cab were several demons from her past.

It had been Cal's idea to take a cab to and from the reunion—"So we can both tip a few back if we choose, love," He'd said, smiling at her.

Gillian had smiled back. Drinking at this thing was a double edged sword, and she knew it. It was truly a 'damned if you do, damned if you don't' sort of thing.

On the one hand, drinking made her emotional. And emotional was certainly the _last _thing she needed to be around these people. On the other hand, she couldn't imagine being able to get through the evening without being able to dull the agony with a little bit of alcohol.

So, she sat in the back of the cab, watching the red numbers tick upward, fighting the ever-present desire to cry or vomit and then turn back around and crawl under the covers of the bed at the hotel room with a rather large bowl of chocolate ice cream and various other dessert items.

A faint clicking sound startled Gillian from her reverie and she turned to find Cal grinning at her.

"Picture." He explained. Gillian quirked an eyebrow. "Emily wanted to see how beautiful you looked tonight for herself."

Gillian felt herself blushing slightly, and she rolled her eyes a little. Cal waggled his eyebrows and then turned his attention back to his phone—hitting send, he waited for the picture to transfer.

A comfortable silence fell between them until it was interrupted by Cal's phone.

Cal glanced down at his phone—

Emily: _Wow, dad! Tell her she looks gorgeous!_

Cal smiled before typing his reply. A few seconds later—

Emily: _Well, tell her AGAIN. From me, too. All her old boyfriends will eat their hearts out_. _Tell her I said that. _

Cal chuckled—Gillian glanced at him, a look of curiosity on her face.

"Em says you look gorgeous." He smiled—"And you do." He said, "In case I wasn't clear earlier."

Gillian reached up and played with her hair—"Tell her I said thank you." She turned to glance out the window, before looking back to him, "And thank you, too." She said, a small smile on her face.

"Welcome." He said, before typing on his phone. He sighed as he put it back in his pocket. "You know," He began, "Emily also suggested that your old beaus would be—and these are her words, not mine—eating their hearts out." Cal leaned slightly forward as he spoke, his eyes taking in the muscles in her face, the way they contracted or didn't contract—Gillian set her jaw and met Cal's eyes—he saw uncertainty and fear coupled with something else—"Is that what it is, darling?" He questioned. "An old boyfriend you're afraid to see?"

Gillian steeled her face, and Cal marveled at just how quickly she could do that when she really wanted to. "Cal…" She said, her voice all soft warning.

Cal reached out and grasped her hand, which was resting lightly on the seat—"Can't hide forever, love." He said, pursing his lips.

She took in his expression and she laughed lightly—"No." She sighed, "I can't." She squeezed his hand and then pulled her hand back into her lap—"But," she emphasized the word and shot Cal a pointed look, "I can hide for a few more minutes. Hours, even." She said, grinning at him.

"Fair enough, love." He chuckled, "Fair enough."

LIIIIINE BREAK I THINK.

Gillian and Cal entered the reception hall side by side. The lobby area was decorated with balloons and streamers in the school's colors: blue, silver and white.

Cal guided Gillian toward the check-in table, his eyes glued to her face. He watched her eyes, apprehensive, take in the sight before them. He considered telling her yet again that it would, in fact, be alright. Instead, he brushed his thumb lightly against the fabric covering her lower back. When she turned to look at him, she smiled and he gave her a little nod.

She stopped at the reception table where an overly perky woman greeted them.

"Hello!" She exclaimed, smiling. "Welcome!" She said, looking between Cal and Gillian.

Gillian was loathe to notice that the woman's smile happened to be real; she was genuinely happy to be there.

"Name?" She asked, her glance darting between them, still unsure which person was a member of her high school class.

Gillian shifted a little, "Gillian Foster." She spoke out of habit.

Cal cleared his throat lightly, "Maiden name, love." His tone was gentle.

"Ooh, you're British!" The woman exclaimed.

"I am." Cal smiled before prompting Gillian again, "Maiden name."

"Right." Gillian chuckled softly, "Sones. Gillian Sones." She said, and the woman smiled, though she furrowed her brow.

"I'm Elizabeth Marshall." The woman squinted slightly, "I don't think we knew each other." Her tone conveyed disappointment—some of which was real, Gillian mused.

"No." For her part, Gillian feigned her disappointment as she watched the woman highlight her name on the paper. "I don't think we did." She offered Elizabeth a small smile.

"Well. Your table number is in there," She nodded her head toward the proffered materials—Gillian reached out to accept them, "Here's hoping you _do_ reconnect with someone you knew." Elizabeth chuckled.

Gillian laughed slightly, even as she felt the dread set deep in her bones. "Yes." She mumbled, nodding, "Here's hoping."

Cal and Gillian started to walk away when the woman snapped her fingers as though the sound were connected to her memory. "Oh!" She said, smiling at Cal—"You can write a name badge over there, Mr. Foster." She said, before turning to some people who were milling about behind her.

Cal stood there silently for a moment before he grinned and laughed, shaking his head as he walked over to the table; he picked up a black sharpie and scrawled "Cal" across the nametag.

He was peeling the back off when he approached Gillian again and saw her peering down on her nametag. Reading her quickly, he stopped in front of her.

"What's the matter, darling?"

Gillian sighed before she looked up at him and bit her lip. She chewed on it a little bit, and Cal cocked his head to the side. Gillian turned her name badge over.

"They didn't." he said as he looked at it, leaning in for a closer look.

Gillian nodded, "They did."

Cal grinned as he ripped the name badge from her grasp—"Wait a minute." He muttered, before he reached in his inside coat pocket. Whipping out his glasses, he slid them onto his face and regarded the badge again. Staring back at him was a black and white picture of a very young Gillian Foster. Her hair was cut bluntly just below her shoulders. "Oh, now that's adorable, that is." He said, grinning at her. "And just look at all those _freckles_!" He said.

Gillian rolled her eyes, "Senior picture." She explained.

"Very nice." Cal said, waggling his eyebrows.

Gillian snatched it out of his hands, but she didn't move to put it on.

With a look resembling a sort of challenge, Cal finished peeling his nametag off. He crumpled the backing paper in his left hand as he smoothed the nametag over his jacket. "There." He said, patting it to make sure it was secured properly. "I've put mine on," He grinned, "Your turn, darling."

Gillian narrowed her eyes at him before she fastened her nametag on. "There." She sighed, "Happy?"

Cal shrugged, "Very."

Gillian sighed, "Come on, _Mr. Foster_," She said, grinning mischievously as she spun on her heel and headed into the ballroom.

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_TBC_


	6. September

_A/N: Apologies for the short chapter- I'm writing as fast as my inspiration will allow me. Your reviews are wonderful and they provide bouts of said inspiration: so, thank you!_

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Gillian and Cal made their way to table number 36. They noticed that it was empty, save a sequined something or other draped across the back of one of the chairs.

As they sat down, they both turned to take in their surroundings. There were people milling about—a DJ was playing music. A few people had taken to the dance floor. Cal watched as clusters of people stood around holding glasses or something or other. Not for the first time in his life, he wished he could turn off his "gift." He watched people everywhere trying to hide their real emotions: contempt, jealousy, fear—he pressed his back into the chair with a heavy sigh. Turning to face Gillian, he smiled.

"I'm going to go mad tonight, I am." He said, waving his hands around.

Gillian chuckled softly but still gave him a sympathetic smile. "Must be what your nightmares look like." She said, surveying the room.

"Too bloody close, anyway." Cal said, grinning. A silence fell between them and Cal watched as she folded her hands nervously in her lap. Cal leaned forward in his chair, pressing his elbows into the table, he rested his chin on his fists.

"So." He said. Gillian raised an eyebrow. Cal raised both of his.

"So, what?" She queried.

"How does all this work, then?" His eyes moved around the room before they settled back on her. "All this reuniting?"

Gillian laughed, "I'm not exactly sure."

Cal leaned back slightly and dropped his hands, pressing his palms into the white table cloth.

"Right." He offered her a gentle smile. "Do you want to go reunite with people?" Cal paused, "Or wait for them to reunite with you?" Cal's voice was quiet and his eyes never left her face.

"Well," he chuckled, reading her, "I know you don't want to do either, really," He smiled, "but the latter it is."

Gillian smiled even as she felt the nerves tie themselves in her stomach. Or tighten themselves, rather, as she noticed with displeasure the ay they did not seem to disappear or lessen. She moved her hands and placed them on the table in front of her.

"A drink, then?" Cal asked.

Gillian shook her head. "Not yet." Her eyes scanned the room, "But soon."

Cal nodded. "Alright, love" He said, smiling as he reached across the table and brushed her hand before he replaced it in his lap. The touch was light, but Gillian didn't fail to notice the way her heart sped up at the feel of his fingertips against the back of her hand. Nor did she fail to notice the way her heart, despite the fact that it was currently in her stomach, constricted as he looked at her with tenderness.

As they sat, a short balding man approached the table—he recognized Gillian from her name badge and it turned out that they had had Chemistry together Sophomore year. They exchanged small talk and pleasantries and eventually the man asked what, precisely, they did for a living—

Cal answered—"We detect deception." He said.

The man's brow furrowed—"Like… lying?" He asked, looking at his wife.

"Exactly like lying." Cal affirmed.

Suddenly, the man's face lit up and he said "Okay, okay, tell me if I'm lying—I have two dogs and two cats."

Cal fought the urge to roll his eyes—"You've got one dog, and you hate cats." Cal said, and Gillian chuckled lightly as the man's expression morphed into one of shock.

"Amazing." He said—"How'd you do that?" He asked.

Gillian grinned, "Science."

After a few more minutes, Gordon and his wife left to mingle with the rest of the guests. When they were alone, Cal shot her a pained look—

"We're going to have to do that all night, aren't we?" He asked.

"Yes," Gillian nodded, "We are."

"Bloody hell." Cal said—Gillian laughed.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, just gazing around the room.

"Everyone in here is working hard tonight." Gillian observed.

"Indeed." Cal nodded. They shared a look for a moment when suddenly a voice interrupted.

"Gillian?" It said—Cal watched Gillian react to it—he noticed the slight quirk of her lips and he could tell immediately that she recognized the voice. He turned to follow the voice. It belonged to a tall blonde woman wearing a tight blue sequined dress. "Oh my _God_, Gillian, it _is_ you." She said, her voice deep and rather throaty.

Gillian turned in her chair to face the woman and plastered a smile on her face. Cal nearly laughed at precisely how fake it was; Gillian was usually such a good liar.

The woman stood with her hands on her hips and Gillian stood.

"September!" She said, with all the fake excitement she could muster.

The woman smiled and let out a light shriek before she reached out and enveloped Gillian in an embrace.

"It is just _lovely_ to see you." The woman whispered, her voice adopting emotion that Gillian—and Cal, for that matter—could tell she didn't _quite _feel.

"You, too." Gillian said, returning the embrace.

The woman pulled away from Gillian and looked pointedly at Cal. Her brown eyes narrowed and she lifted her hand and pointed a finger at him—"This," September said, looking at Gillian, "isn't Alec." She said, before she turned to look at Cal, running her eyes up and down his body.

Gillian withheld a desperate sigh—"No." She shook her head, "It isn't." Gillian cringed at the way September was looking at Cal. Despite the fact that she knew it wasn't her place, the way her high school classmate—and, at one time, friend—was looking at Cal made her uncomfortable; it made her territorial in the most peculiar way. She shook her head lightly—

"New beau?" She asked, her tone innocent with a decidedly flirty undercurrent about it.

Cal watched the woman, made sure to keep his eyes on her face, despite the fact that her dress was working rather hard to draw attention elsewhere—"Cal Lightman." He explained, extending his hand.

September recognized that his introduction was neither a confirmation nor a denial of her assessment—she furrowed her brow—"September Hastings." She said, taking his hand—"Pleasure." She said, her voice wrapping tightly around the word.

Cal nodded once, "I'm sure." He said, his tone flippant. Gillian wanted to hug him. She knew he was on her side always—especially here—but there was a part of her (though she cared not to delve too deeply into which part and why at the current moment) that absolutely loved seeing Cal ignore a rather attractive woman. Because, for all of her trying too hard, September _was _an attractive woman. In fact, she was precisely the type of woman that would have caught Cal's eye—

September shook off the affront and smiled at him—"Cal Lightman…" She repeated his name, "Why does that sound familiar?" She asked.

Gillian closed her eyes tightly for a moment to keep from rolling them—"Cal's my business partner." Gillian explained.

September snapped her fingers together—"_That's _where it's from!" She said, a grin spreading across her face. Satisfied, she sat down in the chair with the sequined jacket slung on it. She leaned forward, "What is it you do again, Gillian? I can never remember."

Cal looked over his shoulder briefly, and dropped his voice low so that only Gillian could hear—"Shocking." He said, and Gillian had to stifle her laughter—

She was smiling when she answered, "We're deception experts." She said. September's face registered blank—"We can tell when people are lying." She said, matter-of-factly.

Cal and Gillian didn't miss the panic that flashed across her face—both of them were mildly amused by it. September shifted in her chair, "Oh, how interesting!" She said, smiling at Cal. Her expression turned serious when she looked at Gillian—"Gill, I have to say this now—I was so very sorry to hear about you and Alec." She was pulling a sympathetic look as she bore her gaze into Gillian's. She lifted a glass on the table—some mixed drink, assuredly—and began sipping.

Gillian pressed her lips together—"Yes, well." She said, and September still looked expectant—Gillian shrugged—"These things happen." She said, and then she turned to Cal, "Actually, I think I could use that drink."

Cal grinned at her as he slid out of her chair—and Gillian smiled back at him—September watched as they shared their own private joke. "Be right back, love." He made his way to the bar.

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_TBC_


	7. Not About This

_A/N: Hello. And welcome to the next part of our little AU tale. Most of you are leaving reviews along the lines of wanting to know what happened to Gillian in the past- suffice it to say that we WILL get there eventually. This expository stuff is necessary; it's not some attempt to drag it out and keep y'all on the edge of your seats, I promise. Just trust me. This might end up being a looooong journey, though.  
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As soon as he was out of earshot, September scooted to the edge of her seat and leaned across the table—"Oh my _God_, Gillian," She said—"He is just… yummy." She said. Gillian cringed. Had September not been so utterly self-absorbed, she would have seen it. September raised her eyebrows suggestively—"So…" She said, her tone adopting a sing-song quality, "Are you guys… _you know_?"

Despite the juvenile way September was going about it, Gillian felt herself flush—"No," Gillian answered emphatically—"We're just business partners." She explained—at September's look, "We're _friends_." She said, and as she watched September's face, she realized her protestations were falling upon deaf ears. There was no way that September knew what it meant to have a male friend _without _benefits.

September shook her head as she leaned back in the chair—"What a shame." She said—"I bet he's _amazing_ in bed." September never did have a filter, Gillian remembered wryly. "So." September looked at her—"How have you been? You know, I mean… besides the… divorce." September whispered the last word as though it were a state secret—as though it were covered in shame.

Gillian made a mental note to throttle Cal later—after all, it was entirely his fault that she was sitting at this table in this room being forced to converse with a woman like they were old friends—as if what happened twenty years ago never actually happened. Gillian felt a pain in her stomach and she thought that it quite resembled the dagger September had jammed in her back twenty years prior.

Gillian tried to concentrate on the question at hand—how was she doing. "I've been _wonderful_," Gillian lied, and she was thankful Cal wasn't there to see it. She turned her head over her shoulder and saw him making his way through the crowd carrying two drinks in his hand. As he slid into the seat beside her and placed the alcohol in front of her, she sent him a look that said nothing short of '_bless you_,' "But, enough about _me_, September," Gillian said sweetly as she picked up her drink and took the first sip—"Tell me what's been going on with _you_." She said, doing her best to feign genuine curiosity.

September sighed—and her eyes lit up in the way of those who are truly self-absorbed—"Oh, I've just been marvelous!" She said, stirring her cocktail—"Gene and I are still going strong," She said, smiling, "In fact, we'll be celebrating our fourteenth anniversary next month," She said—"We have two kids, Jack and Diane—Jack's eight, Diane is twelve, and they're just the sweetest kids a parent could ask for." September finished.

Cal did not miss the way September watched Gillian's face closely as she closed her tale—looking for signs she wouldn't be able to see because Gillian was a wonderful liar. Cal saw, however, the way Gillian's body tensed—the way her muscles contracted—her oblique eyebrows—she reigned them all in quickly, however, and smiled—"That's wonderful."

September nodded her agreement. "It is." She sighed reverently, "I just don't know what I'd do without my family." September seemed to realize her mistake, and she turned her attention to Cal—"What about you, Cal?" She queried.

Cal offered her a smile—and Gillian was relieved to see that it was a fake one—"I, too, am divorced." He said—"Happily." He added.

September grinned at him—"Any children?"

Cal cleared his throat and nodded, "A daughter. Emily. 17." He explained in as few words as possible—trying to make it clear to even the densest of humans that he was not interested in the flirty glances she was giving him.

September received the message—but she did not take it well—nor did she consider it final. She simply pressed her back into the chair and smiled—"I'm so glad you came, Gillian," She said, "_Really_." Her tone was heavy and one look at Gillian's face told Cal that she knew precisely why.

Cal furrowed his brow—"Dance with me, darling?" He asked, and he saw Gillian weigh her options—she nodded, accepting the lesser of two evils (being alone with September and being alone with Cal) and leading him to the dance floor, leaving September behind at the table.

A slow song was playing, and Cal wrapped his left hand around her waist and took her right hand in his—they danced closer than business partners would but not as close as lovers—Gillian averted her gaze as they swayed to the music—Cal wouldn't stop looking at her.

Finally, he spoke—"Pleasant woman."

That earned him a laugh, and Gillian rolled her eyes—"Yeah." She said, sighing.

"Friend of yours?" He questioned.

Gillian shook her head before she spoke—"Used to be."

Cal nodded, and he watched emotions flicker over her face. "What did she mean by it?"

Gillian considered deflecting—she considered pretending that she had no idea what Cal as talking about, if only so she could stall for a moment. Gillian shook her head instead. "Nothing."

Cal sighed, "Something." He locked eyes with her, his gaze tender and searching.

Gillian shook her head and laid her hand on his chest briefly before returning it to his shoulder. "Cal…" Her tone was warning, and he shrugged as if to say '_can't help it_.' But he remained silent. Gillian sighed heavily. "Something." Her eyes glossed slightly, and her grip tightened on his hand, "But, Cal, I have to ask you—and I really mean it—please don't read me—not about this, okay? At least, not until I'm ready." She said, and there was something in her tone—a certain sadness that made him pull her a little closer to him.

He enjoyed the feel of her body close to his. "Okay." He whispered, "But I'm here, yeah?"

Gillian smiled and nodded, "Yeah." She agreed, and they lapsed into silence, swaying to the gentle music, the lull of conversation and the sound of the past enveloping them.

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_TBC_


	8. A Friendly Face

_A/N: Fic writing is slow going these days-for multiple reasons (some of which include real life and the lack of inspiration)! This story, as it is planned out, is very complicated! So. The way I'm writing is to set up a little piece at each time to avoid posting massive chapters full of content where things get lost. _

_Anyway! On with the next chapter!_

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Cal felt Gillian's body stiffen before he saw her eyes widen slightly—then he felt her left palm, which he was holding, slicken with a light sheen of perspiration. Cal raised his eyebrows in question, and tried to catch Gillian's gaze—when she would not look at him, Cal followed her line of sight, just over his left shoulder—

He saw clusters of people, but he couldn't quite tell where her gaze rested. Looking back and forth, he tightened his grasp on her hip—his fingertips pressed into her flesh, and he brought his eyes into her line of sight. "Darling?" He waited until she focused on him—"Hey." He said, his voice comforting—"What is it, love?" He asked, no longer bothering to pretend to dance—

Gillian shook her head—"Nothing." She said, her throat suddenly dry.

Cal took in her appearance—the way the color drained from her face, the way her mouth hung slightly open—"Gillian." Cal's voice was still gentle, but slightly firmer, "You look as though you've seen a ghost." He said, running his fingers lightly over her hip.

Gillian shook her head slightly and cleared her throat before she gave a small laugh, "I have." She said, and she could scarcely contain the shudder that threatened to roll through her.

Without a word, Gillian turned and made her way back to the table, keeping her eyes directly focused on the ground in front of her feet. Cal followed behind her, casting a glance in the direction that had seemed to frighten Gillian. Unable to discern what had caused her reaction, he turned his attention back to Gillian, who was sliding into her chair, a somewhat distant look in her eyes.

Cal watched Gillian with carefully concerned eyes as she reached for her glass and drained it—she set the glass back down on the table gently, before turning to Cal with a tight smile.

"I'm fine." She said, her voice terse and quiet.

Cal chuckled lightly—"Clearly." He said, his voice thick. "Whenever you're ready." He said, as September returned to the table, cocktail in hand.

"Doesn't this music just take you back?" She asked, a smile pasted on her face as she slid into her chair. "I swear, just hearing it makes me feel like I'm seventeen again."

Cal glanced at Gillian and he had to hold back a laugh; it was clear that Gillian wanted to say something biting, and she was barely containing herself. Cal leaned slightly into her, before turning to look at September.

"So," he said, drawing out the word slightly, "September, what do you do?" He asked, not bothering to sound genuinely curious.

"Oh, I'm a stay at home mom." September replied—"Can you believe it, Gillian? _Me_, of all people, a _stay at home mom_?" September waved her hands about as she spoke.

Gillian reached for her glass, and tipped her head back, trying to drain the last droplets from the glass—"No." She said, shaking her head, "I just can't believe it." Cal watched as Gillian's face remained emotionless—then her eyes lit up, as her gaze traveled over September's shoulders—she smiled, widely, genuinely for what had to be the first time that evening.

Cal followed her gaze and landed on a petite brown haired woman heading toward their table. Gillian stood as the woman approached and enveloped her in a hug—

"Melinda!" Gillian said, "I'm so glad you decided to come after all!" Gillian said.

Melinda smiled—"Well," She said, her voice bright, "I couldn't let you suffer alone, now, could I?" She said, laughing—Cal did not miss the way her head slightly indicated September.

"You could have," Gillian replied, "But I'm so very glad you didn't." Gillian stepped to the side and indicated Cal—"Cal," She said, glancing at him, "This is my oldest and dearest friend, Melinda Ashwood. Melinda, this is Cal Lightman—"

Melinda extended her hand in a friendly gesture, Cal shook it lightly—as he did, Melinda spoke, "Ah—so _you're _the famous Cal Lightman." She said—

"Famous?" He asked, amusement in his voice.

"Infamous, more like." Melinda said, laughing—She and Gillian shared a look.

"Oi!" Cal said, waving a hand between Melinda and Gillian—"What was that?"

"Nothing." They both said simultaneously.

"I'm hearing that a lot tonight." Cal mumbled, leaning back in his chair.

"Let's just say," Melinda said, as she took a seat at the table—"I've heard a lot about you."

"Uh oh." Cal said, smiling.

"Uh oh, indeed." Melinda said, before turning her attention to September. "September." She greeted.

"Hello, Melinda." September replied—"Glad you made it." She smiled tightly.

"I'm sure." Melinda said—"You look well, September." Melinda said, looking her up and down.

September sipped her drink—"Thanks." She said—"Well." September stood up and then addressed the table, "I guess I should go make the rounds." She said with a little flourish.

"So, just like high school, then." Melinda muttered under her breath—Gillian brought her hand up to cover her mouth to keep from laughing—Cal simply smiled.

"I'm sorry, what?" September said—

"I said," Melinda smiled, "That's the polite thing to do."

September narrowed her eyes—"Yes, well." She said, before she spun on her heel and made her way across the room.

When she was gone, Gillian sighed and shook her head "She hasn't changed a bit."

Melinda laughed—"And I bet she's paid good money to make sure of that."

Gillian chuckled, "Did I mention how _glad _I am to have you here?"

"Once or twice, yes." Melinda said.

Cal smiled—"So, how do you two know each other, then?"

Melinda and Gillian shared a warm smile—"We grew up together." Gillian answered, looking at him—"We were best friends before we were even born."

At Cal's confused expression, Melinda clarified—"Our parents were next door neighbors and our mothers were pregnant at the same time. It was basically an instant-best-friend sort of thing."

Cal nodded, "I see."

"I'm going to grab another drink," Gillian said as she stood, "Cal?"

He shook his head, "I'm fine, love."

"Melinda?"

"I'll have a glass of white wine, please."

Cal watched as Gillian's eyes surveyed the room quietly—she looked as though she were looking for something in particular before she started her journey toward the bar. Cal watched as she disappeared into the crowd. When she was no longer visible, he turned his attention back to Melinda.

"So," Melinda said, leaning back into her chair—"Cal Lightman—we finally meet." She said, crossing her legs.

"Finally?" Cal asked, taking a drink—he raised his eyebrows to accompany the question.

"I've been hearing about you for _years_." Melinda explained, her tone holding a bit of amusement coupled with seriousness as she spoke.

"I'm frightened to ask." Cal said.

Melinda smiled, "You should be."

Cal chuckled, then glanced over his shoulder to see if he could see Gillian. Finding that he couldn't, he turned to look back at Melinda who was eyeing him with suspicion.

"She's the best person I know." Melinda said, apropos of nothing except Cal's look.

He shrugged—"Me too."

Melinda gave a curt nod—"Good. So long as we're clear." She said, drumming her fingers on the table—"So. Did September say anything ridiculous?"

Cal considered her question—it seemed, to him, that nearly everything that came out of the woman's mouth was ridiculous. But, then again, he was quite biased as she seemed to rub Gillian the wrong way. "Not anything in particular," He answered—"She rambled some about her children and being a stay at home mom." Cal shrugged.

Cal watched as Melinda's face contorted into an expression of anger—"That _bitch_." She breathed.

"Beg pardon?" Cal asked.

Melinda shook her head—"Never mind. I didn't get here in time." She said, almost to herself instead of Cal. "My damn husband wouldn't let me out of the house—he kept asking what he should do if something went wrong with Hannah." She smiled.

Cal furrowed his brow.

"My daughter. One and only child." Melinda said—laughing, she added, "She was an accident."

Cal chuckled—"I know the feeling. Those are the best mistakes, though."

"They are." Melinda agreed.

"Not the maternal type, then?" Cal questioned—

Melinda laughed loudly at that, "No." She responded, "To say the least." She held up her hands—"I never wanted kids—_never_—not like—" Melinda stopped herself, and Cal watched as a pained look spread across her face—

"Not like Gillian." Cal finished for her.

Melinda shook her head—her voice was quiet when she spoke—"No. Not like Gillian." She finished, and Cal thought it a testament to the friendship she and Gillian shared that Melinda's eyes welled up a little—"God," She said, smiling a bit reverently, obviously connecting with a memory, "From the time we were little, Gillian wanted a baby. She'd always ask for baby dolls for her birthdays and Christmas—she'd push them around in their strollers, feed them every few hours—" Melinda smiled, "She'd hold them so _gently_—she was born to be a mother." Melinda cleared her throat—"Life is really fucking unfair."

Cal felt a rush of sadness sweep over him. He could tell Melinda knew _something_ that he didn't know—but his heart always ached for Gillian when he thought of the fact that she couldn't have children. He'd seen her maternal nature from the beginning of their partnership, when he'd first introduced her to Emily. He'd seen it in her eyes every time she looked at a child—

He nodded—"It really is."

Just then, Gillian returned to the table, carrying two glasses of wine. Smiling, she set one down in front of Melinda before sliding into her chair—

"I hope Melinda wasn't telling _too _many embarrassing stories about me."

Melinda laughed—"You're just in time, I was just about to tell him about that time at Matthew Logan's new year's eve party—"

Gillian flushed—"You were _not_!"

Cal looked at her and leaned in slightly—"Well, based upon your reaction, darling, _that's _a story I'd love to hear."

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_TBC_


	9. The Past

_A/N: Hello you lovely readers you! I know you've all been anxiously awaiting the new installment of this story. Real life has been stressful lately, and these are the perils of posting a WIP. This story is huge, so the task always seems daunting. I do apologize. I finally sat down to read all of your reviews from the last chapter, and that motivated me write this one._

_So, here is chapter 9. Thank you for loving this story._

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Gillian picked up her wine glass and swirled it around before looking at Cal, "I'm _sure _you would, Cal, but that's absolutely _not _happening." She brought the glass of wine to her lips and took a sip, narrowing her eyes slightly at Melinda.

Melinda smiled and picked up her glass of wine, "Fine," She said into her glass before sighing, "Though I can't promise the topic won't come up the next time you leave the table, Gill."

"Oh, I think you can promise that, Melinda, or the next time I see that darling husband of yours…" Gillian let the mock-threat hang in the air between them.

"You wouldn't." She shook her head.

"But I would."

Cal couldn't help but smile a the interaction between the two old friends. Gillian had seemed so uncomfortable all night, but with Melinda she seemed relaxed—she seemed herself. More than that, she seemed a version of herself Cal hadn't yet seemed. The worry he'd seen in her eyes from the moment he'd suggested they'd come to this reunion dissipated as she bantered with her old friend.

Silence fell over the table, and Melinda watched Gillian carefully. Cal shifted his gaze between the two friends, before finally settling on watching Melinda. He could tell that there was something she wanted to say, but wasn't saying. Probably because of his presence.

If Cal were anybody else, he would have politely excused himself from the table. But, he wasn't anybody else, so instead he sighed heavily and spoke, "Alright, out with it then."

Melinda didn't shift her gaze from Gillian. She knew who Cal was, what he did. She knew what Gillian did now, and although she probably didn't need to verbalize it, she did anyway.

"I might kill him, Gilly." Cal watched as what he could only describe as intense rage poured off Melinda in palpable waves. "Is he here?"

Gillian's eyes narrowed, before she pressed her lips together and nodded her head once.

Melinda nodded once in return. "I'm just saying, if I see him…"

Gillian sighed, "You will. Of course you will. But don't, Mel." Gillian's body stilled, "This is my battle—not yours."

Melinda's eyes softened, "They've never been different for me, you know that." Gillian smiled, "But, okay." Melinda finished her glass of wine and then shifted her gaze to Cal—"Time to refresh." She said as she stood up and made her way to the bar.

Cal observed Gillian in silence. Despite the fact that she was, indeed, his blind spot, he'd always known when to back off. Granted, there were times he'd push those boundaries—but the look he saw in her eyes told him that this was certainly not one of those times. So, despite his intense curiosity about the subject of Gillian and Melinda's conversation, Cal decided to let it alone for the moment.

"She's lovely." Cal said, looking at Gillian.

Her head snapped up and she shot him a look.

"Oh, come on, you know I didn't mean like that." He said, shaking his head. Gillian smiled at her knee-jerk reaction.

"Like there's no precedence." She said, a smirk still playing on her face. Gillian turned her head to the side, observing him. She watched as an emotion passed over his face—"What was that?" She asked, the wine making her discerning skills slightly cloudy.

"What was what?" Cal asked.

"Nice try." She said, laughing lightly. "I saw it. Whatever it was." She said, looking at him suspiciously. She'd seen that look on him before, somewhere.

Cal flattened his palms against the table. "I'm just…surprised, that's all."

Gillian raised her eyebrow, "Surprised?"

Cal nodded. "You'd not mentioned Melinda before…"

Gillian's eyebrows shot up as realization dawned on her, "Cal… are you… jealous?" She asked, choosing her words carefully around her rapidly forming laughter.

Cal smiled, "Who, me? Jealous? Of her?" He asked, indicating his head in the direction that Melinda headed.

"Oh, of course not—Cal Lightman, jealous?" Gillian reached out and grasped his hand. Running her thumb lightly over the back of his palm, her voice adopted a sing-song quality, as though she were talking to a small child, "Don't worry, Cal. I can have two best friends." She said, and then stuck her tongue out at him before returning to her wine.

"I wasn't jealous." Cal said, matter-of-factly as he swirled his now empty glass.

The truth was, however, that he _was _slightly jealous. After all, Gillian was his very best friend. And he knew—or had thought at least—that he was hers as well. While he still knew that was true, he couldn't help but feel a slight pang at the realization that there was someone in her life that knew more about her than he did. Melinda knew whatever secret Gillian was hiding. Melinda got to be angry for Gillian—that was usually Cal's role, and he'd be lying if he said that it was a role he didn't want back.

Gillian patted his hand, "Sure you weren't," She said, in her best patronizing tone. She tipped the wine glass to her lips and emptied it of its contents. "Refill?" She said, nodding her head toward Cal's empty glass.

"Pace yourself, darling." Cal said, smiling at Gillian as she began to rise from her chair.

"Cal," She said, exaggerating his name, "You have no idea how well I can hold my liquor—particularly if that liquor happens to be wine."

"Ah," Cal said, sliding out of his chair, "The perfect woman." Cal said, linking his arm with hers as they headed in the direction of the bar. "I, for one, am glad I thought ahead and didn't drive us here." He said as they approached the counter and gave their orders to the man that was tending bar.

They'd just gotten their drinks, when a deep voice came from behind them.

"Gillian Sones, as I live and breathe."

Cal's instinct brought his gaze to Gillian's face before he turned to see to whom the voice belonged. He could tell by her face that she recognized it—he could also tell that she was surprised and somewhat pleased to hear it. Beyond that, she was curious, and Cal watched as a slow smile spread across her face as she turned around to face the man.

Cal turned with her and was met with a rather tall man with thick dark hair and light blue eyes. Cal imagined he was the sort of man that most women would find attractive. He was too busy sizing the man—and the situation—up to turn toward Gillian and find out if she happened to be "most women."

"Austin," She said, her voice lilting slightly, "You recognize me from behind?" Cal struggled to hide his cringe at her flirty tone.

The man smiled, revealing perfect white teeth—"Are you kidding? I'd recognize those legs anywhere."

Gillian beamed at him, "It's Foster now, Austin, you know."

"Don't remind me, Gillian." Austin leaned forward slightly and his voice adopted a conspiratorial tone, "Although a little birdie told me that's not the case anymore."

Gillian arched her eyebrow, "A little birdie?"

Austin chuckled, and pointed at her left hand—"I see a beautiful woman, the first thing I look for is a wedding ring."

Gillian sighed, "Still the same, I see," She said, shaking her head.

Cal had not failed to notice how Austin hadn't so much as given him a glance. Nor had Gillian for that matter—he cleared his throat, and thrust out his hand in conjunction with his speech: "Cal Lightman." He said simply.

The man looked only momentarily puzzled, and then he reached his hand out and shook Cal's hand. Gillian laughed lightly—

"Oh, I'm sorry, Austin Gilchrist, Cal Lightman."

"Pleasure," Cal said.

Austin smiled, "Likewise." He stepped up to the bar, "Can I get a glass of pinot noir, please?" He asked, and then turned back to face Cal and Gillian. "So… How do you and Gilly know each other?"

Cal's eyes narrowed at the use of the nickname. Austin was obviously using it to demonstrate whatever relationship he and Gillian had once had. Cal pulled his lips into a tight smile, "I'm her partner." He said, curtly.

Cal knew Gillian would clarify the statement, particularly given the pithy way he'd said it to begin with, but it was worth it to watch Austin's reaction—stark disappointment etched into his face, and Cal struggled to hold back his laughter.

"_Business_ partner," Gillian clarified, shooting Cal a look—"We work together."

Austin smiled and nodded a bit, fully aware of what Cal was doing, "Ah, I see." He said, picking his wine up and looking at her name badge. "Well, would you look at that," He said, smiling, "We just happen to be at the same table."

Cal rolled his eyes—though neither Austin or Gillian noticed.

"Hm." Gillian said, laughing, "Imagine that."

"Fate." Austin said, leaning closer to Gillian. Cal felt his fist clench at the sight.

"Fate?" Gillian asked, her skepticism evident.

Austin chuckled, "Either that or my cousin is the reunion coordinator."

"Ah." Gillian said, sipping her wine.

"Shall we?" Austin asked, looking intently at Gillian, giving Cal a cursory glance. "We've got quite a bit of catching up to do, my dear."

Gillian smiled—and Cal didn't miss, nor did he particularly like, the twinkle in her eye at Austin's words. When he'd pressured her to come to this reunion, this wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind.

"After you," Austin said, gesturing with his hand. Gillian walked in front of him, and Cal watched as Austin blatantly checked her out.

Cal cleared his throat, "I'm right here."

Austin laughed, "I know you are, man. Don't tell me you don't enjoy the view every day at the office…"

Cal smiled slightly, and the two men began the walk back to their table. Cal would've normally felt offense at any man checking Gillian out like that, natural as it might be, given Gillian's attractiveness—but despite the fact that he wanted to absolutely hate Austin Gilchrist based on the looks Gillian gave him alone, he couldn't help but notice that the look in Austin's eyes as he gave Gillian the once over wasn't sleazy in the slightest.

With a heavy internal sigh, Cal noticed that Austin had a full head of thick hair—and Cal tried to brace himself for what the night would bring.

* * *

_TBC_


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Hello, all! I'm back. This time with a more timely update. As usual, thanks again for the reviews; they're bright spot in my stressful, complicated life at the moment. So, thanks a million._

_Onwards- Chapter 10:_

* * *

They all settled into the table and a charged silence settled upon them. Cal couldn't help but notice how Austin and Gillian kept looking at one another. Austin folded his arms over his chest and leaned back into his chair, finally breaking the silence.

"So, how've you been, Gill?" He queried, his tone light, his eyes full of a warmth that Gillian responded to.

"I've been really great, Austin." She said, smiling at him, leaning forward slightly.

Cal rolled his eyes. "I've been wonderful, too." He said, and both Gillian and Austin turned to look at him. Austin smiled tightly, and Gillian let out a little laugh.

"You two work together, then?" He asked, taking a drink of his wine.

"Yes," Cal answered, "We do."

"And what kind of work do you do?"

Cal was a bit surprised, not to mention pleased, that Austin didn't already know.

"We're deception experts," Gillian supplied, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. Austin's eyebrows rose, "Cal reads faces." She explained, before chuckling at Austin's reactions.

"And so does Gillian." Cal said, "Though she's really more of voice expert."

Austin looked surprised, "A voice expert?"

Gillian nodded, and Cal listened as she explained what The Lightman Group did to Austin Gilchrist. He seemed genuinely interested—and he asked Cal surprisingly good questions.

"That's fascinating." He said, looking between Cal and Gillian. It was a compliment they could both tell he meant.

Gillian smiled, "It has its moments."

Cal sighed, "Blessing and a curse." He said, pursing his lips. At Austin's confused expression, Cal elaborated. "People conceal things constantly. It's exhausting to see it all. Unfortunately, there's no off button." Cal took a sip from is drink, "And you're only the second tonight to refrain from asking me to discern whether or not you're telling the truth." He added, wryly.

Austin smiled, "I can see where all of that would be problematic." He set his wine glass on the table and played with the stem.

"How have you been, Austin?" Gillian asked, genuinely curious.

Austin smiled, "I've been well."

"Good." Gillian said, her tone soft. "How's Annabel?"

Austin chuckled, "She and her boyfriend are both fine."

Gillian's eyebrows shot up—"Oh, I'm sorry… I didn't…" She fumbled for words.

"It's alright. We divorced a year and a half ago." Austin clarified.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Gillian said.

"It's the nature of the beast," Austin said, his eyes sad as he looked at Gillian. Cal watched as something passed between them. Austin wasn't saying something—the metaphor was specific, and he could tell Gillian understood his meaning, because she dropped her eyes to her lap, and wound her hands together tightly.

The tension at the table was palpable, and Cal spoke into it—cutting it with his own peculiar and particular brand of humor, "So, how do you two know each other then?"

Cal's voice brought Gillian back from whatever place she had gone, and she looked at Cal to find him grinning.

"On the debate team together?" He asked, and Gillian laughed.

"We're old friends." Gillian said, smiling into her glass. When Cal and Austin both looked at her with incredulity, she sighed, "Austin was my first serious boyfriend," She explained, before taking a drink from her glass. As soon as she finished, she changed the subject, "How are Dylan and Olivia?" She queried.

Cal watched as sadness flashed over Gillian's face, and he wondered at the cause of it.

Austin smiled, "They're great. Dylan is ten, and he always wants to go to class with me," he looked at Cal, "I'm a professor," He interjected, Cal nodded, "Olivia is fourteen, which is hard to believe. I cringe every time I think about the fact that she's a teenager."

Cal chuckled, "It just gets better, mate." He said.

Austin smiled, "I take it you have a daughter?"

Cal nodded, "Seventeen. Wait until her first date. You don't know the meaning of the word panic until that day."

Austin shook his head, "I can imagine—and if she's anything like her mother…" He trailed off and Cal laughed.

"I know _that _feeling, too."

The men laughed, and Gillian watched as they both radiated love for their daughters. She felt a pang of sadness in her stomach, but she pushed it aside and blinked back the tears that threatened to form in the burning behind her eyes. She'd had a daughter once, too. But she didn't get to worry about her first date—and that fact never ceased to knock the wind out of her.

"How's teaching?" Gillian asked.

"It's great," Austin said, "Everything I'd hoped it would be—and more. My father's still angry that I gave up the job at his firm. But, he's dealing."

Cal suddenly felt uncomfortable, as though he were intruding—as though he should give them a chance to catch up without his interjections. He was normally not so diplomatic, but since he'd dragged Gillian here, he thought it was the least he could do. With a nod, he excused himself from the table, and went to find the restroom.

When he came back, he found their table empty. He scanned the room for Austin and Gillian, but to no avail. Melinda saw his search and headed toward him.

She smiled, "They went outside." She pointed toward the door, and Cal looked conflicted. Melinda laughed, "Go." Cal nodded and made his way outside.

He felt the cool night air on his face, and looked around in the dim lighting for Austin and Gillian. He saw their shadows before he saw them. He started to come around the corner and announce his presence, but stopped short when he realized they were in the middle of a conversation. He turned to walk back inside, but something stopped him in his tracks.

Cal had never been one to eavesdrop. Well, that wasn't precisely true. He had never been one to eavesdrop on Gillian, but the way she looked at Austin made him change his mind.

Austin's voice was heavy and full of emotion when he spoke softly, "Why didn't you stay, Gilly?" He queried.

Gillian sighed and averted her gaze. Austin placed his thumb under her chin and brought her eyes to his before dropping his hand back to his side. Gillian took a steadying breath, "Because… I knew I'd marry you."

"That was such a bad thing?" Austin asked, shaking his head.

Gillian smiled, "No. Of course not. But I wanted out."

Austin furrowed his brow, "Of?"

"God, Austin, out of this town—out of this tiny town where everyone knew every damn thing about me."

"And the need to escape outweighed… everything." It wasn't a question—and Austin's voice was wrought with emotion that even Cal could read.

Gillian felt the tears pricking the backs of her eyes, "Barely."

Austin nodded, then brought his palm to her face. He cupped her cheek and when he spoke his voice was nearly a whisper, "I nearly followed you to Cornell the day you left."

Gillian smiled, thinking about the day she'd broken up with Austin—the day she left for Brown and never came back. She'd lied and told him she didn't love him anymore. "Part of me wanted you to." She admitted.

Austin smiled, "I got halfway there and turned around." His finger caressed Gillian's cheek. Gillian brought her hand up and placed it over Austin's. "I loved you so much." He said.

"I loved you, too." Gillian said, her voice soft. At his look, she shook her head, "I _did_." She gave him a sad smile, Cal had to strain to hear what she said next, "You deserved more."

Austin dropped his hand from her cheek, "Bullshit." He said, suddenly teeming with a quiet sort of anger.

Gillian squeezed her eyes shut.

"That's bullshit, Gillian." Austin said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I'm sorry, but it is."

Gillian's eyes welled up with tears, "Is it, Austin?" He nodded his head, "Is it?" She asked again, as she wrapped her arms around her abdomen. "You have things now that I… couldn't have given you."

Austin shook his head and stepped closer to her, "We could've figured something out, Gillian."

Gillian refused to meet his gaze, "No—you deserved more."

Austin dipped his head to meet her gaze, "No, Gillian, _you _deserved more." Austin leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on her lips, "There was nothing I wanted more than you." He pulled back from her, "_Nothing_. God knows I'm thankful for everything I have, but what I _wanted_? Was _you_." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead and she could no longer keep the tears at bay.

Austin wiped one away with his thumb before he leaned down and gently pressed his lips to Gillian's. It was tender and gentle at the start before he deepened the kiss, running his hands through her hair before he pulled back from her and smiled.

From his observational position, Cal felt his heart drop into his stomach just before a powerful wave of nausea overtook him. He knew he shouldn't be eavesdropping—that he shouldn't be watching them like this, but he simply couldn't help it. He turned to walk away twice, but something—that tug in his heart when he thought of Gillian—kept him firmly in place.

He watched as Austin brushed the pad of his thumb against Gillian's cheek. The tears still glistened in Gillian's eyes as she looked at Austin, the silence between them old and comfortable.

"I missed you." Austin said, his voice filled with a tenderness that even Cal could hear.

Gillian didn't respond. Instead, she nuzzled her face into Austin's palm, enjoying the familiarity as it rushed back to her. After a long moment, Gillian finally spoke.

"We'd better get back," She cleared her throat, "Cal will be wondering where we are."

Austin nodded his head once and stepped back from her. Cal took that as his cue and headed back inside, making his way back to the table, trying to fight the sense of panic that gripped his heart and stomach.

* * *

_TBC_


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Hi, everyone. Sorry it's taken me so long to update. I work 50 hours a week right now. Also, I'm sorry for this POS chapter. But, again, I work 50 hours a week. Yes, I do intend to finish this story, even though my inspiration to write for LtM is basically nil at the moment.

Thank you for all of your reviews and your comments on this story. They're wonderful.

* * *

Cal sat back down at the table and tried to quell the sinking feeling he felt in his stomach, the pounding in his chest. He'd barely managed to get his heart rate down to normal when Gillian and Austin appeared back at the table. Gillian's smile caught a bit as her eyes traced over Cal's face. She furrowed her brow as she slid into her chair, never taking her eyes off his.

"You alright?" She asked, concern evident in her tone.

Cal nodded once. "Fine, love." He said, forcing a smile. Usually, hiding his emotions came easily to him, practiced as he was at it—but what he saw—and heard—out side between Gillian and Austin outside left him reeling and unable to perform as he usually did.

Gillian looked at him suspiciously out of the corner of her eye, but Cal watched as her face changed—he watched as she made the decision to let it go.

Austin's voice broke the eye contact Cal and Gillian had been maintaining. "Well," Austin sighed, I'm going to grab another beer." He announced. "Can I get anyone anything?" His eyebrows rose as he surveyed the table. Gillian shook her head, "Cal?"

Cal bit back the response forming in his gut—'Just Gillian back.'—Instead, he shook his head and offered Austin a quick and polite "No."

Gillian narrowed her eyes at Cal as Austin retreated. If she had made the decision to let it go, Cal's hesitation before answering Austin's question made her pick it up again. "What's going on with you?" She asked.

Cal leaned forward, invading Gillian's personal space as he was apt to do. "Have fun outside, then?" He asked, his mask falling directly into place. Gillian's eyes widened slightly, showing her surprise, her face flushed slightly and she opened her mouth to respond, the words catching in her throat. She closed her mouth and opened it to try again, but before the words could form, Melinda walked up to the table and slid into her chair—she had a smile on her face, which was slightly flushed.

Melinda settled into her chair with a huff—"No. Seriously. I really do hate everyone here. Hate. Strong word, I know, but I do. Everyone except you, Gilly." Melinda leaned forward and rested her head on her wrist, giving Gillian a full smile. "I've missed you."

Gillian smiled. "I've missed you too, Mel."

Melinda laughed, "Well. Great. Now that we've gotten all that out of the way, I'm off for another wine."

Gillian reached out and grabbed Melinda's arm, effectively stopping her from rising out of her chair.

"Uh uh." Gillian said, shaking her head and then laughing at the expression Melinda shot her. "No more alcohol for you." Gillian said, pointing a slender finger Melinda's way. Melinda started to protest, but Gillian spoke over her. "No. You, my friend, are a mean drunk." Melinda pouted, Gillian rolled her eyes, "A _very_ mean drunk—lest I remind you of the last day of school Junior year?" Melinda looked down at the tablecloth in front of her—she hid a sheepish grin, "I thought so. And, considering the fact that you just declared your vehement hatred for a roomful of people—you're most definitely cut off."

Melinda slumped back in her chair and she narrowed her eyes at Gillian. "Fine." She said—"I still don't hate you, but I _am _mad at you right now. I don't know how I'm supposed to tolerate these people unless I'm mind-numbingly drunk. But, fine."

Gillian chuckled—and despite the way his mood had degenerated in the last hour and a half, Cal chuckled, too.

"Understandable." Gillian said, a smile playing on her face.

"And!" Melinda said, as though it were a most brilliant afterthought, "Just so you know, if _I _see him first, I'm going to kill him."

Gillian's smile faded quickly and Cal watched as an emotion he pinned as somewhere between dread and anger flickered over her face. Cal felt his adrenaline begin to surge as he looked at her. Even though he was unaware of the circumstances, he cold feel his anger—palpable through his body.

Gillian pursed her lips, "You won't be the first…"

Reading Melinda's confusion, Gillian exhaled and then explained "I saw him earlier."

Melinda exhaled heavily—"Fuck." She grew still. "What did you say?" She asked, worry etched into her face.

"Nothing. It was more of an 'in passing' type thing."

Melinda looked hard at Gillian. "Well, what'd he say to you?"

Gillian sighed. "Nothing. He didn't see me."

"Figures. What a surprise. Of _course_ he didn't see you. I can't believe he even had the _audacity_ to show up here in the first place!" Melinda shook her head, reflecting her utter disbelief.

"Yeah…Well." Gillian replied, her tone resigned.

"Before the night's over, I want you to tell him—tell him everything you told me graduation night, okay?" Melinda's gaze softened a bit as she seemingly reconsidered, "You still want that, right?"

Gillian squeezed her eyes shut, before she nodded once. "Yes." Her voice was quiet—finding the word was difficult.

Melinda nodded, and she radiated love—after a moment, Melinda started to get up, but Gillian tightened her grip on Melinda's arm. Melinda rolled her eyes. "I have to pee." Gillian narrowed her eyes, "Yes, I know you read faces for a living, and that _so _doesn't scare me, because I really do have to pee. I'll go right here in the chair, Gill. You know I will." Giving in, and stifling a laugh, Gillian released Melinda's arm.

Gillian leaned back into her chair with a sigh as Melinda walked away. Gillian could feel Cal's gaze on her, but she refused to look at him. Fixing her focus, instead, on the centerpiece in the middle of the table.

"Running away, are you?" Cal queried, his tone dark. Gillian steeled her aw and kept her focus. "Don't play this, Foster." He sighed, "It's too much. It's too much, and I need to know what's going on." Seeing her façade break a little, Cal pressed on—"I need to know where to put all of this anger I feel building up inside." Gillian finally looked at him—seeing the depth of his gaze, she felt her eyes start to water. She was hurting him. She didn't mean to, but she was. And Gillian hated to hurt anyone, let alone Cal. Seeing her start to waver, Cal spoke, "What happened, Gill?" He asked, allowing the desperation he felt to seep into his words, knowing she'd pick up on it.

Gillian continued to look at him. She felt the fear rise up in her body, manifesting itself as a massive lump in her throat which she struggled to swallow around. She was afraid to tell him for so many reasons. Cal watched as the fear situated itself onto her face.

With an unsteady voice, she spoke—"It's…tough, Cal."

"I can see that, love." He said, watching her intently.

"I just…I don't know where to begin." She smiled a little, feeling her stomach fill with knots decades old, "I'm not sure how to start."

Cal smiled at her, his voice comforting—"Begin at the beginning darling. Or start wherever's easiest, darling." Cal reached out and brushed the back of his hand along the top of her hand, "I'm easy like that, love."

Gillian bit back a smile at his double entendre, and Cal chuckled lightly, glad he could lighten the heaviness that had settled itself over the table, even if just a little bit.

Gillian inhaled sharply as she squeezed her eyes shut, "It was so long ago, Cal, I understand that. _You _have to understand that," She said, offering him a wry smile—"But this… reunion. This… coming back here has reminded me how fresh it was."

"I'm sorry for that, darling." Cal said, caressing her hand lightly. He'd dragged her here—unknowingly bringing her back into a world she'd apparently spent her entire life trying to escape.

Gillian shook her head—"No. Don't feel bad, Cal. Really and truly. It's something I need to face—it's something I've needed to face for a long time, no matter how much I don't want to."

Cal simply nodded, understanding what she was trying to convey. She didn't blame him. Not for this, anyway.

"So, how does it start, Gillian? What happened all those years ago?"

Gillian directed her eyes to their hands, still connected. She couldn't look at him when she said this. The words came out, one by one, quietly—"I was 15—a sophomore, actually. And there was this senior boy. He really was the talk of the town—literally—football star, really great guy…" Gillian trailed off, and Cal listened intently, a weight laying itself across his chest.

Gillian opened her mouth to speak, but just then, there was a commotion behind her—several audible gasps that drew both Gillian's and Cal's attention. Gillian turned her head slightly over her shoulder, only to see Melinda pushing through the crowd.

What she saw next, however, made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. Melinda, face red with anger and exertion, was dragging a medium sized man through the crowd of people, until she came to a stop in front of their table.

"Gillian." Melinda said, "I found him. I found the son-of-a-bitch."

Gillian sighed, "I can see that, Melinda." Part of her wanted to be mad at Melinda—but the other part of her had known the woman since they were babies—the other part of her knew Melinda was trying to help in her own sweet, albeit in-your-face sort of way.

Cal saw the man, looking slightly disheveled, and though he didn't know the story, he had to work to control his anger to keep himself from hauling off and hitting the guy.

"Gillian," The man said, unable—perhaps unwilling—to look her in the eyes.

"Steven." She said, her tone cutting.

Cal was shocked—he'd never heard Gillian speak a name with such venom.

Watching the exchange, Melinda released Steven's arm, and stepped a considerable distance away from the man.

"I don't…" Steven started, everyone in the room was watching the scene unfold. He shut his eyes tightly before he opened them again to continue… "I don't know what to say."

"Imagine that." Gillian retorted, "Steven doesn't know what to say after all of these years—he sure as hell won't lead with the one thing he's still never said." Gillian could feel the anger coursing through her veins, but she suddenly remembered she had an audience. Unwilling to create a scene, she turned to Cal. "I'll tell you everything when I get back." Cal shoved his hands in his pockets, and looked at her hard, "Hey." She said, tilting her head to the side. "I promise." She raised her eyebrows in silent question. Cal answered with a nod. "Steven." She said, her tone icy, "Outside. We're going to have a conversation." She said, "It might be twenty years too late, but we're going to have it." She said—and she motioned for Steven to walk in front of her before turning to the crowd that had formed—"And we'll be having it _alone_." She said to the sea of familiar faces.

She found Melinda's face in the crowd, and Gillian saw Melinda's eyes glistening with tears—Melinda nodded, almost imperceptibly—pride emanating from her body.

As she walked with purpose behind Steven into the night, she hoped she'd find the strength to say the things she never did.

* * *

_TBC_


	12. Confrontation

_A/N: Thanks for your reviews and your continued support of this story. These things make writing this story worth it._

* * *

Gillian stood with Steven, the night air hugging them closely, the cloud cover making things almost eerily quiet.

Steven wouldn't quite meet her gaze, and Gillian hated to admit that she didn't quite know how to begin, she shrugged a little, and then fixed Steven with a hard stare.

"After all this time, Steven, you've got nothing to say?"

Steven shoved his hands into his pockets and bit his lip lightly, "Gillian," his voice was austere, his posture rigid—"It's in the past, can't you just… let it go?"

Gillian squeezed her eyes shut and she felt the end of his sentence as though it were a physical blow. She nearly shivered, then, as she felt an undercurrent of rage pulse through her body. She took a steadying breath and then clenched her fists at her side before she finally began to speak.

"I wish I could, Steven, she said, her voice terse and wrought with emotion she wished she could suppress. She was a voice expert—and she knew that even a layman could hear the raw pain in her speech, "But unfortunately, it's _not_ the past for me." Her voice dropped low, "It can never be the past for me."

Gillian watched as Steven's eyes grew dark and his bones seemed to grow heavy within his body before her eyes—his voice was quiet, and she could hear the shame when he spoke—"It ruined my life, too."

She had to lean forward to hear him, and when his words finally registered, her heart constricted in pain—"Don't." Her voice was firm, not quavering like her limbs, "I will _not _feel sorry for you. I won't. You," She said, fighting against the burning behind her eyes, "You had a _choice_." She sighed, "I didn't. I wasn't given a choice."

Steven looked at her, his eyes wide and slightly red. He opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again. A heavy moment hung between them. "I don't…" Steven swallowed hard, "I don't know what to do." He confessed, looking off into the distance—looking anywhere but at her.

Gillian stared at him. She felt the pain, years old, beginning fresh again—a dull ache in the center of her stomach that began to pulse before it spread outward as she looked at the man slumped over in front of her. He looked defeated. And still, her jaw was tight as she spoke—"You an alcoholic, Steven?"

Steven nodded, his eyes widening slightly.

"How long?"

Steven let a long breath out. "You know how long, Gillian."

Gillian nodded once. She did know exactly how long. "You sober?"

Steven nodded. "I relapsed two years ago—" he cleared his throat—"On April 26th." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other—"I have a year and a half now."

"Are you working a program?" She was the daughter of an alcoholic—she was intimately familiar with the difference between simply being in a program and working a program.

Steven nodded once.

The date was all too familiar to her—she nodded and smiled slightly, though it held no real mirth—"That's good." Her pain was beginning to subside slightly, "But didn't you forget an important step?"

Steven glanced down at the floor, and Gillian knew he knew what she meant. She stared at him—when the silence was at its thickest, she leaned her head forward. "Make amends?" Her voice wasn't gentle: it crackled with the anguish of the apology that couldn't make anything better—but the apology she never got and hadn't realized until tonight how much she needed.

"Christ—" He expelled a breath, and Gillian watched as humiliation and then anger clouded his features. The psychologist in her knew it wasn't directed at her, but her knees locked in anger anyway. "What was I supposed to do, Gillian? Send a letter? Call you up? Show up at your doorstep and say 'Hey, I know I ruined the fuck out of your life, but I'm on step nine now, and hey, I'm sorry and do you think you could maybe forgive me?"

Gillian, despite her very best efforts, was crying now. "Yes!" She nearly yelled at him—"Yes, goddamnit, to all of the above!" She took a step toward him, "You show up! You show up and you own up to your mistakes—even the ones that hurt other people. _Especially _the ones that hurt other people. You did a shitty, shitty thing 20 years ago, and I've been paying for it ever since—and you never even said you were _sorry_ for it."

Steven looked at her, tears in his eyes. "Shit, I _am _sorry, Gillian. Of course I'm sorry—I'm so fucking sorry. There's not a day that's gone by—I mean it, not a _single _day where I haven't thought of you and been sorry for the choice I made. There hasn't been a day where I haven't wished I could go back and change something—anything from that night." He was crying hard now, "But I can't, and I hate it—I can't and I'm so sorry."

Gillian stepped toward him and put a quick hand to his shoulder. "Thank you." She said, "I've been waiting a long time to hear that. I didn't know quite how necessary it was until just now." She pushed her hair from her face, allowed herself to feel the gravity of the situation—allowed his words to sink in, and she felt a small part of the weight she'd been carrying for twenty years lift off her shoulders—"It didn't make everything better, of course, it couldn't—but, it did start a small part of myself healing," She smiled—"And a small part of you, too, I'd imagine."

Steven nodded, a look of gratitude in his eyes.

Gillian looked at him—"Stay sober, Steen." She said, before she walked out onto the patio, and away from Steven. She heard his footsteps retreating, a sad, solemn walk still tainted by a bad choice twenty years ago.

She took a deep breath and felt the cool night air burrow itself into her lungs. She sat down in a plastic chair, felt the coolness of the chair press into her body, and before she knew it, soft sobs wracked her body, and she cradled her face in her hands.

She knew he was behind her—she could _feel_ his presence even before he pulled another plastic chair close to her. She didn't look at him yet, she just kept crying—for the first time in a long time she didn't apologize to him for her tears.

Cal situated himself into the chair next to her and then reached his hand out—he was cautious to touch her—this was unmarked territory between them recently. He rubbed his hand up and down her back in a gesture that Gillian found sweet and extraordinarily comforting in its simplicity.

The thought made her sob even harder—

"Darling," Cal said, his hand stilling for a moment, before it continued. He sighed as Gillian's body shook—he resisted the urge to scoop her into his arms and smooth her hair and kiss her temple—instead, he caressed her back—he exhaled, "Darling."

There was no demand to it—no query. She had said she would tell him—and for what felt like the first time in his life, Cal was determined not to push.

Finally, Gillian looked at him—he raised his eyebrows slightly, his hand stilling but not moving from its place on her back—

She sniffled slightly, "I must look atrocious."

Cal smiled—"On the contrary, you look stunning."

Gillian laughed, and swiped at her tear tracks—"I'm sure."

Cal caught her wrist in his hand—"Hey." He said, his voice gentle—His eyes bored into hers—"You're gorgeous. Am I lying."

Gillian flushed slightly, and she felt familiar butterflies dance in her stomach—"No," She said, her voice barely a whisper—"You're not." Cal was a good liar—but not to her.

"Exactly." Cal said, releasing her wrist.

Gillian smiled, and then turned to face him fully. She brought her hands into her lap and wrung them—"I think you've figured out from tonight that there are some things you don't know about me."

Cal nodded, and smiled—"I'd been getting that a bit, yeah."

Gillian chuckled, thankful in this moment, at least, for Cal's ability to make a heavy situation feel light.

"I'll tell you." She said—and then seemed to second guess herself, "On one condition."

Cal tilted his head—he was wary of agreeing to anything without knowing to what, precisely, he was agreeing—but he sensed this was a big step for her—he nodded, "Name it."

Gillian fixed him with a stare—"Don't overreact."

Cal considered this—"Define overreact."

Gillian chuckled—"Just don't _do _anything."

Cal arched his eyebrows, he'd make the promise. And he'd try like hell not to break it. "Alright, love. I'll do my level best."

* * *

_TBC_

Next chapter should be where the whole thing gets explained.


	13. The Truth

_A/N: This chapter has been a long time coming. It is imperative that, even after all this time, for this chapter, I specifically thank my lovely, dear friend Gidget89. Who helped me immeasurably with this chapter so long ago (indeed, the research for this chapter was done nearly a year ago)-and, might I mention, was found on email 74 of 'many,' between the two of us. Thank you, Gidget, for your never changing fabulousness. I enjoyed sharing our fic and our ideas-and there was no one with whom I'd rather have done it._

_And, now, some answers:_

* * *

Gillian eyed Cal, unsure that his 'level best' would be good enough. Even 20 year old scars might set Cal off—he'd always been so keen on protecting her. Besides, she'd seen him tonight—his clenched jaw; and, worse, he'd seen her—especially just now, crying over pain she'd been carrying around with her for so long that it felt more and more like an old friend.

Still, she knew she needed to tell him, and, despite feeling nervous about his reaction, she knew that now was the time. She had only told this whole story, in its entirety, three times before—once to Alec, once to her mentor in graduate school, and once to another boy she thought she might marry, so many years ago. She placed the third encounter out of her mind—she'd never get through this properly if she kept thinking about Austin.

She decided it was best to start at the beginning—or at least, as near the beginning as was useful and would make sense, so, she steadied herself as best she could, and with a quiet voice, full of memory, she began to speak.

"I was a sophomore in high school and Steven was a senior. We actually hadn't been dating that long—I think we'd been out on maybe two dates, which is why I was thoroughly surprised when he asked me to go to prom with him. I was one of only three sophomores that were invited." Gillian laughed a little and tucked her hair behind her ear—her gaze was fixed on the horizon, and Cal watched her remember, her tongue running over her teeth before she let out another small laugh, that he imagined tasted of bitter irony, "I actually had to beg my parents to let me go. After two solid days of pleading and a bit of pouting, they finally acquiesced."

Cal watched her intently, Gillian met his eyes briefly, and he saw them glistening in what little light the moon gave off, before she focused her gaze back on the horizon.

"Steven showed up at my house in a tux, driving his dad's new Cadillac—he shook my father's hand, we took a few pictures by the fireplace, my mom cried over how beautiful I looked, and we left. I think…" Gillian trailed off, her eye squinting, deciding whether or not she should say the thing that just inhabited her mind.

Cal spoke gently, nearly whispering—"Say it."

"I think that was the first time in my life I'd ever felt beautiful—truly beautiful." Gillian tilted her head to one side, "My dress was pink—and Steven told me how beautiful I was in it, constantly—I remember being so happy, and blushing every single time he said it." She paused.

Cal leaned into her shoulder, "Not much has changed then, love." Gillian glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He winked at her, but said seriously, "You're still beautiful," Cal watched the color rush to her face, "and you still blush."

The silence floated between them for a moment—"The way he was looking at me," Gillian smiled, and shifted her legs, "no one had ever looked at me like that before then."

"They have a million times now," Cal mused under his breath, thinking of all the times he'd looked at Gillian or been witness to someone else doing the looking. She chuckled and rolled her eyes a bit—and Cal was glad to see that she didn't mind his interjections. In fact, they seemed to be a welcomed reprieve for her.

Cal clenched his fists, waiting for the ball to finally drop—trying to fight the churning in his stomach.

"It was fun at first—we danced and ate and danced some more. It was the first time I'd danced with a guy who wasn't related to me, so of course I was nervous about it. But, he was really sweet and made me feel comfortable…"

Cal watched her face change, watched the nerves settle into her muscles as her jaw tightened, and Cal felt an overwhelming sense of sadness rush over him.

"But, then, Steven and his friends kept disappearing. I couldn't find them anywhere—then they'd come back for awhile and then leave again. I should've followed them, but I didn't. Steven seemed to be acting strange, but back then, I didn't… it wasn't…"

Gillian stopped and took a deep, calming breath, before she continued.

"I remember finding it odd that he constantly smelled of mint." She shook her head slightly, "Anyway, he got in the driver's seat to drive us home—well," Her voice broke a bit, "we were driving, and truthfully, I don't even know what happened except we were hit on the passenger's side, and Steven walked away unscathed—while I was in a hospital bed for five days."

Cal didn't need to ask—he knew the answer, he could see it all over Gillian's face; he'd seen it all over Steven's face earlier—and everything made so much sense that his head pounded and his stomach threatened to empty itself right on the spot—but he asked anyway, to protect her—so she wouldn't have to say it out loud, in the hopes that it would hurt less.

"He'd been drinking."

Gillian nodded once, solemnly, and blinked—"He and his friends had been doing shots of tequila—and I didn't know. I should've known."

Cal swept his hand gently down the back of her hair—"Oh, darling, how could you have?"

Gillian let out a breath, and wrapped her arms around herself—"My dad was an alcoholic, Cal. I should've seen it; I should've been able to tell."

Cal shook his head, "But beer was your dad's drink of choice, love, not tequila—and you couldn't see in a 17 year old boy what you had no reason to suspect was there to begin with. It's not your fault, there's nothing you could have done differently or better."

Gillian nodded. Cal knew that, deep down, she knew this—but he also knew that for Gillian, sometimes reifying the known was extremely helpful.

The silence engulfed them—it was thick and charged with Gillian's pain and Cal's anger, and even remnants of Steven's remorse. Cal sensed the story was not done, but he didn't push or prod—he simply sat with her, reached his left hand to take her right, and then ran his thumb over her hand before giving it a gentle squeeze and letting go.

Her voice was nearly choked when she spoke next, "You're right." Gillian nodded, "Of course you're right." She swiped at her face, brushing away the tears there.

Cal raised his eyebrows, "First time for everything." He said, choosing self-deprecation over arrogance.

He was rewarded for his choice by a smile—a true one, Cal noticed, as Gillian's eyes crinkled at the sides—and a laugh.

"Oh, it's good to hear that." Cal said, finding her eyes, and making sure that she understood that he absolutely meant it.

Gillian leaned her head on his shoulder for a brief moment, before she picked it up again, and Cal did his best to steel himself—the story, he knew, wasn't over yet.

"When I was released, the doctors wanted to keep an eye on me. When I went in for a checkup a month later, I had an abdominal aortic aneurysm; this one was located in my pelvis—an inflammation of my iliac artery. They went in for surgery—and they repaired it just fine." Gillian sighed, "When I woke up, they told me that the surgery was a success—but that they found something else while they were doing the surgery."

Gillian stared at the horizon again.

"The doctor told me that while they were repairing the aneurysm, they noticed something strange. They wanted to make sure nothing was wrong, so they investigated a little—" Gillian paused and gave a little laugh, "You know, to this day, I still don't really know what that means." She gave a little wave of her hand, "But they found adhesions—" Gillian shuddered, "I don't remember much from that conversation except for learning that I'd never be able to bear children."

Cal instinctively put his arm around her and pulled her close. Though he expected her to, she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, gathering comfort from his embrace.

"Later, when I was with Alec, we got more testing done—there were adhesions on my cervix and fallopian tubes, and uterus—the latter of which made it impossible." She took a moment—she didn't feel like explaining the mechanics of it, they weren't important, anyway. Cal ran his hand up and down her arm for a moment, feeling her body tighten under him. She tucked her head under his chin more thoroughly, and Cal rested his chin lightly on her head.

Her voice sounded tiny—"They think it was my seatbelt; when we got hit, Steven hit the brakes, causing the seatbelt to lock into place. If it had been just an inch or so higher," Gillian pulled away and shook her head, "But it wasn't. It was precisely where it needed to be to cause irreparable damage."

Gillian didn't cry—it hurt her, still, to say those words. For the longest time, all she'd ever wanted to be was a mother, and that night—a night that was supposed to be amazing, took that away from her.

Cal knew the story was over now, and he felt his blood pressure rise as his blood began to pump furiously through his body—He couldn't tell her how sorry he was—there weren't enough words in the universe to tell her, so he got angry instead. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, loud and thunderous, as he rose, clenching his fists—with a determined gait, he headed back inside, rolling his sleeves up as he went—his intentions clear.

* * *

_TBC_

_The story is not yet at a close-and the contents of this chapter were borne from a real story I saw on a news show many years back._

_Thank you for your readership, thank you for your patience, and thank you for your reviews; if they did not come, this story certainly would not._


	14. Aftermath

A/N: The long-awaited continuation... I'm sure it's nowhere near the caliber of the preceding chapters, but it's all I've got.

* * *

The cloud cover disappeared, and Gillian watched through blurred vision, the moonlight her lamp, Cal's back as he strode back into the building.

"Cal!" Her voice was lost, even to her own ears. Nothing she said could stop him now, deep down, she knew that. They were bound to one another in ways neither could fully understand. His pain was her pain, and vice versa.

Standing, she wrapped her arms around herself, startled and dismayed to find herself shaking even more than she had been before. Still, she charted a steady course back inside-not knowing what she would find there.

She only had to go as far as the lobby. It was there she found her two biggest defenders, her two best friends, huddled close together, leaning into one another. She glanced at both of their faces, Melinda's and Cal's, and their sheer determination and anger made her laugh. Without an ounce of warning, the sound just bubbled from her and echoed around the small lobby area. It was an unexpected sound to all three of them, and Cal and Melinda turned and looked at her.

"Something funny, love?" Cal cocked his head to the side, his own expression a complicated mix of curiosity, amusement, and unbridled anger.

"Yeah, Gill," Melinda pushed her bangs out of her face, "Something funny?"

Gillian started laughing again, even though she still felt tears burning her eyes- "Yes, absolutely. The two of you standing here plotting vengeance!"

"Uh, no offense, Gill, but this kind of doesn't concern you."

Cal nodded his agreement.

"Have you two completely lost your minds? _Of course_ this has to do with me-this _only_ has to do with me!" She was conscious of the mass of people still inside, so she kept her voice to a whisper-shout.

Cal's face softened, "See, now, that... that's where you're wrong."

Gillian watched as Cal and Melinda looked at her, and she felt her heart swell- there had been many times lately where she lamented the fact that she didn't have a family. Since Alec, she'd been alone, and in recent months she'd become exceptionally aware of what, precisely, that meant. She'd known for a long time that she would never hear the pitter-patter of little feet that once kicked inside her-but she'd always imagined she'd have someone with whom she could share her life. After her divorce, the loneliness snuck up on her and sucker punched her on a fairly regular basis. Now, however, standing here looking at these two crazy, hot-tempered, protective people, she realized that she was wrong. She _did_ have people with whom she shared her life- it wasn't conventional, there would be no white picket fence, but it was here. And her heart swelled with that knowledge.

Gillian sighed and looked at the two standing before her- "I know." She touched her face, "I shouldn't have said that. I know. But... nothing you say or do now can make up for what happened then. Nothing can fix it- nothing can take away the scars of what happened, literally or figuratively. If it could, you know that I wouldn't even try to stop you."

Melinda exhaled sharply, "He has to pay for what he did, Gill. I've always wanted him to pay," Melinda was on the brink of tears.

"I know, Mel. But, the thing is that he _has_. He _has_ paid. In ways we will never be able to understand."

Melinda nodded, only slightly, and then smiled, "But, still...Can't you just let Cal rough him up a little?"

"Yeah, love, gotta say, I'm with your friend on that one."

Gillian fixed them with a stern look, "No." Her tone was bemused, but serious. She'd had enough violence to last a lifetime. "Besides," she shrugged, "it wouldn't be the first time he'd been roughed up for what he did..."

Mel's eyes widened, as Gillian's meaning sunk in, "I _knew it! _He didn't get in another car accident our senior year!"

Gillian shook her head.

"Austin." Mel nodded, "I _knew_ I liked him."

Cal bristled only slightly at the name.

Gillian chuckled.

"Alright," Mel clasped her hands together, "What do you say we go back in there, grab a couple more drinks, and wrap this _awesome _reunion up?"

Gillian nodded, "Sure. Just... give us a couple minutes, will you?" She looked at Cal, and then looked meaningfully at Melinda.

"Oh, of course," She winked, and then headed back inside.

When she had gone, Gillian turned her gaze to Cal.

"Oi. Don't look at me like that, darling."

"Cal." Gillian shook her head, "You promised."

Cal ran his hand through his hair, his heart still pumping with anger. "To be absolutely fair, I said that I'd do my level best. You've known me long enough now to know precisely what my 'level best' entails. And, also to know that I've got a bit of a soft spot for you."

"A bit?"

Cal smiled, "Alright. More than a bit- it's just... Gillian..." He stepped toward her, "Your pain is my pain, yeah?" He touched her cheek with the back of his hand, "Know what I mean?"

Her eyes were glassy, and she suddenly felt her mouth go dry-the way he was looking at her reached deep inside her; it rooted itself in her feet and bloomed upwards, until words spilled out of her mouth, and tears threatened to spill from the brims of her yes, "More than you know."

"Alright, love," He pulled her into an embrace, and she inhaled as her head rested on his shoulder-the scent of Cal filled her lungs, and for the second time that night she felt safe. Cal pulled back and looked at her again, the pad of his thumb resting on her cheekbone- Gillian licked her lips, and Cal inched closer to her.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and a loud drunk couple passed them- Cal drew back and cleared his throat.

"We'd better get back to Mel," Gillian said. Cal smiled- but he didn't bother hiding the disappointment on his face. The raw honesty Gillian saw when she looked at him surprised her. Nonetheless, Cal opened the door for her.

"After you," His voice was soft.

They made their way back inside, through the throngs of people, and finally back to their table, where Melinda was finishing a glass of wine, and talking to a smiling Austin. Cal glanced at Austin, and he felt a sense of gratitude. No matter what this man meant to Gillian now, or back then, Cal knew he could never feel anything other than thankfulness toward Austin- Austin had been there to protect Gillian, before Cal had even known her. Cal could never forget that-he wouldn't.

"I just... _hate_ her, you know!" Melinda said, as she slipped the last contents of the wine into her mouth.

"Uh oh." Gillian said, shaking her head, "How many more has she had?"

Austin chuckled, "Two. Although she says she's now in my debt. Not entirely sure how I earned that honor." His brow furrowed in amused confusion.

"I told her the truth about Steven's... second accident."

Cal watched as Austin's eyes darkened at the name. "Ah." He said, simply, drawing patterns on the tablecloth with his fingers.

Cal slid into his seat, "Who are we hating now, Melinda?" His eyebrows rose, and Gillian couldn't help but smile at the interaction.

"September." Melinda crinkled her nose in an obvious gesture of distaste. "She's such a _bitch_."

"Oh, is that right?"

Gillian, Melinda, Austin, and Cal all turned to see September standing in front of them-they'd all been so occupied that they hadn't noticed her stride up.

"Yes." Melinda said, matter-of-factly, "That's absolutely right."

September rolled her eyes, "And what did I ever do to you, Melinda?"

Melinda's mouth opened, but Gillian let out a warning, "Mel..."

"Gillian... I've not said anything to her for 20 years... she was our _friend_. She was _your friend_." Melinda turned her attention to September, "You were our friend, September. We invited you into our lives, into our houses, ane we trusted you. And after that night, you just disappeared. Which would have been fine. Not everyone is strong enough to handle a friend in pain- but you told _everyone_ when Gillian found out. The whole school knew- and it was none of their business. It was none of _your_ business. And then you show up here tonight and tell Gillian how much you LOVE being a stay at home _mother._" Melinda was shaking with her anger now, "So, _yes,_ September, you _are_ a bitch."

September stood in front of the table motionless, before quickly turning on her heel and walking away.

* * *

TBC. I waffled between continuing and just ending it with this chapter (in a different way). Truthfully, the latter felt too abrupt, and I've put too much time into this story to just randomly end it. Hopefully I can get it finished in a way that at least does semi-justice to the rest of the story.

Thank you for your continued reviews; your reviews and PMs are a large part of why this chapter (awful though it may be) has been posted.


	15. As It Should Be

The air was heavy and possessed a slight chill, as the people poured out of the auditorium. Some hand in hand, some with their hands thrust deeply into their pockets, the same cliques leaving and promising to stay in better touch. The scene was oddly reminiscent of high school—the middles were a little thicker, the hair was a little thinner, the wrinkles a little deeper, but if you looked hard enough, you could see that not that much had changed, when you got right down to it.

Melinda turned to Gillian and enveloped her in a tight hug, "You know how I am about goodbyes," her voice wavered, "so, I've missed you." She said, before releasing her friend.

Gillian smiled, "I've missed you, too."

Melinda turned to Cal, and gave him a quick hug, "Look out for her." She said, quietly, her eyes motioning to where Gillian stood, silent next to Austin.

"I will." Cal nodded.

Austin turned to Gillian, and despite his good intent, Cal couldn't help but eavesdrop. "I'll see you tomorrow?" Austin's voice was thick and heavy, and contained the unmistakable tone of hope.

"Yes, tomorrow."

And then they all poured into their cabs—Melinda into hers, Austin into his, and Cal and Gillian into theirs.

Cal and Gillian rode in silence back to the hotel—Cal realized suddenly that he had missed her. It had been quite some time since he had to share Gillian with other people, and he discovered that he didn't quite like it. At least, not the way he enjoyed his one on one time with Gillian.

They were silent up the elevator and into the hallway—right as the green light turned on their hotel door, Gillian spoke: "We're going to coffee." She entered the room, and Cal trailed behind her.

He hadn't asked, but it had been the only thing on his mind since he heard Austin mention it.

Not fully trusting himself to speak, Cal nodded slightly, as the door clicked softly behind them. The air between them was thick with silence and tension. For years, he had dreamt of sharing a hotel room with Gillian, though this was certainly not his fantasy.

Gillian busied herself digging through her suitcase, before she pulled out pajamas, and some antibacterial wipes, and quietly said "I'm going to take a bath."

"Alright, love." Cal smiled, as he watched her disappear into the bathroom. He _knew_ Gillian brought cleaning supplies on trips. He'd suspected it for years, but never been able to prove it—had the mood been different, had he felt better, he would have claimed victory.

With a sigh, he pulled his shoes off, and settled onto his bed. He heard the water running, the unmistakable sound of water pooling in porcelain, and he leaned back into the pillows on the bed, fluffing them up behind him and massaging his temples. His mind ran through the night, of all that there was to say, to discuss, to talk about. He'd learned so much about Gillian, so much that he never knew. And while he was glad to know more about her—he was always glad—what he'd learned made him sad, and not just for the sheer facts. It made him sad to know that for all these years he had been her partner, her friend, and he hadn't known these things about her. She'd never told him—and worse, he'd never asked.

"You're _selfish_, Cal." Zoe's voice came to him, her favorite insult during their acrimonious divorce—probably still her favorite, actually.

He felt a particular kind of shame—for all the ways he wanted to be different with Gillian, he could see now that some of his character flaws still prevented him from being the exact man he wanted to be for her. He should have asked—even if she wouldn't have told him, he should have asked some question, any question, instead of tiptoeing around it. It was cowardly, and few things Cal Lightman ever did could be described as cowardly.

Through the bathroom walls he heard the water stop, and then he heard the sound of toes penetrating water, and even though he was busy berating himself, he couldn't resist the sensuous images that came to his mind. In an effort to prevent himself from lusting after Gillian, he pulled his laptop into his lap and powered it on.

The familiar sound rang out, and as soon as his desktop finished loading, he heard the familiar sound as an iChat window popped up.

Emily (12:43:25): Did you tell her?  
CLightman (12:43:28): go to bed.  
Emily (12:43:34): So… that's a no?  
CLightman (12:43:46): It's complicated, em.  
Emily (12:43:51): You love her. Explain complications please.

Cal rolled his eyes, his lovely, brilliant, wonderful teenaged daughter was entirely too much like him at times.

CLightman (12:44:02): there's someone else.  
Emily (12:44:10): …

Of all the ways Cal imagined tonight going (and he imagined many), discussing his love and relationship woes concerning his long time business partner and best friend with his teenaged daughter was somehow not one of them.

CLightman (12:44:17): exactly, love. …  
Emily (12:44:21): I told you that you should have told her earlier!

Cal smiled—and, his lovely, brilliant, wonderful teenaged daughter was entirely too much like her mother at times.

CLightman (12:44:38): em, lovely daughter of mine, and I say this entirely with love: butt out.  
Emily (12:44:46): Ugh. Fine. I just thought you would have learned that I'm always right by now.  
CLightman (12:44:55): funny, love. I always think the same thing about you.  
Emily (12:44:57): :-P  
CLightman (12:45:01): the emoticons have come out. go. to. bed.  
Emily (12:45:14): Okay. I still think you should tell her anyway, Dad.  
CLightman (12:45:18): yes, your opinion, as usual, is well known.  
Emily (12:45:25): As it should be. Night, Dad!  
CLightman (12:45:30): Night, love.

With a sigh, he shut his laptop, placed it on the bedside table, and then changed into his pajamas, suddenly exhausted. He thought that maybe he _should_ tell Gillian how he felt before she met with Austin tomorrow.

"You're _selfish!_" Zoe's voice, again, and Cal realized that he couldn't tell her. He couldn't tell her before she met with Austin tomorrow. This had to be Gillian's decision—it wouldn't be right, otherwise. Even _if _Cal could cut her off at the pass, he shouldn't _want_ to (oh, how he wanted to!).

He needed to know what Gillian wanted—so often, he thought he knew. He thought that she reciprocated his feelings, and that they were just waiting on…something. Tonight, the way she looked at Austin, told him that maybe he was wrong. Maybe her heart had been somewhere else all along, and that's why it never happened.

Either way, he had to know—and he had to let Gillian decide.

Scared he wouldn't be able to let her make the decision, he turned on his side, and switched his bedside lamp off when he heard the drain in the bathroom unplug. He heard Gillian walk into the room, put something in her suitcase, and then crawl into bed. He steadied his breathing as much as possible as he felt her eyes on him.

'Don't speak, love.' He willed her silently—if she spoke, he would forget everything.

Cal heard the sheets rustle as Gillian slid into her bed, heard her wiggle around as she tried to get comfortable. He heard her lie awake, imagined her staring at the ceiling, her mind running as fast as Cal's mind was. Finally, he heard her breathing slow, and only as it evened out did he quietly turn on his other side and look at her.

The moonlight softly hit her face from the gaps in the blinds, and she was so beautiful.

Tomorrow, Cal thought, would decide everything. Or, more accurately, Gillian would. His heart felt oddly calm—

'As it should be.' He whispered, his voice, swollen with emotion, cutting through the silence.

* * *

TBC.


	16. Tell Her

The morning sun poured into the windows of the hotel room, the blinds casting odd shadows across the bed. Cal watched Gillian give herself a final once over in the mirror, and though she tried to hide it, he noticed a slight look of displeasure cross her face.

"You look wonderful, love." Cal said, pressing his back into the pillows holding him up. It was early, and he was sitting in a hotel room doing the one thing he absolutely never thought he'd be doing: watching Gillian get ready for a date.

At his words, she turned to him, and he watched her face color slightly—he saw a flash of emotion he couldn't describe, and then she smiled. _She's gotten much better at camouflaging her emotions_, he thought, briefly recalling the beginning of their partnership when he could read her like a candy novel.

"Thank you," She said, grabbing her bag. She glanced at her watch, "Should be back by noon, so we can get on the road home." She surveyed the room, taking into account her neat suitcase. Cal saw her eyes linger on his suitcase, which was in utter disarray.

"I'll be packed up," he said, offering her a little wink.

She nodded, gave a little laugh, and then swiped her key from the bar, and headed out, "See you later," She called over her shoulder.

Cal listened to the soft click of the door, and felt the knots in his stomach grow tighter. Gillian _did_ look wonderful—she looked beautiful, absolutely radiant. She looked… easy. Not in the way that sounds, she looked lighter—like a weight had been lifted on her that she never even knew she was carrying. _That I never even knew she was carrying_, Cal thought.

He gazed at his suitcase, the contents strewn about haphazardly, and then eyed Gillian's suitcase, neatly tidied up. He noticed Gillian had moved his shoes from their various locations and placed them under his suitcase rack. If he were in a different mood, he might have waxed poetic about how this was a metaphor for his life—and for hers—and for theirs, together.

He'd almost told her again this morning—but he couldn't. He loved her, and he'd always known it, somewhere. And _because_ he loved her, he couldn't tell her—so many choices, he now realized, had been made for Gillian, choices she couldn't make herself. So he had to let her make this one. It was the right thing to do—but it wasn't easy. He glanced at the clock, and knew the next three hours of his life would flow by like molasses. So, he busied himself with his suitcase, grim in the knowledge that there was nothing he could do now but _wait_. And that was something Cal Lightman was not generally very good at.

* * *

Gillian walked from her car to the coffee shop slowly, her nerves growing stronger with every click of her heel on the gray concrete beneath her feet.

If breaths could steady her, she'd take a hundred of them, but she knew it was futile, so instead she just kept walking, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. Then she saw him—the man she spent a decade of her life thinking about—standing there, his dark jeans slightly faded, his black button up shirt cuffed at the elbows. He looked _good_. He always had. But, time had been a friend to him, and Gillian felt a stir in the pit of her stomach—he looked better now, she thought, than he did back then. And that was saying something.

Austin smiled when he saw her, and as he embraced her, Gillian felt the familiarity between them. She was surprised it hadn't gone away.

"Coffee, no cream, one sugar?" He asked, obviously recalling the way she used to order her coffee when they were younger. She never really liked it that way, but she was daring, and coffee was new, and she was determined to be one of those people that liked coffee for its coffee flavor. It never really caught on for her.

She colored, "Actually, coffee with cream, _two _sugars." She smiled.

As they sat, sipping their coffee, their chatter was light—little memories shared between them, snippets of 'Did you see Brad Melby last night? Talk about letting himself go…' It was nice. It had been so long since she spent any time with anyone who knew her when she was young—and Austin knew her just about better than anyone.

Suddenly, Gillian watched Austin's eyes turn serious—she had promised herself she wouldn't read him, but sitting here now she just couldn't help it.

"You were my first love, Gillian."

"And you were mine." She didn't miss a beat—she was going to be truthful here today, above all else.

"And you left." He said, his voice gravelly with the emotion of it.

"I did." She agreed, "I couldn't offer you what you deserved."

"Gillian." Austin's voice was stern—she knew this tone, she remembered it well, "Goddammit, Gillian. Don't talk about yourself like you were defective. You weren't. You're not."

"I know that…" She said, though not with as much conviction as she wished. She _did_ know that, but she had spent so much of her life thinking about what had happened to her—how the one thing she always wanted had been ripped from her before she was even old enough to realize just how much she would want it. She knew that—but, it didn't always stop her from feeling as though she were.

Suddenly, she felt the tears invade her eyes, and she was staring at Austin through glassy vision, and for a moment he looked just like the boy she'd left behind so many years ago, the boy she'd thought about for years.

"I'm _sorry_, Austin." Gillian said, her voice quiet. "If it's any consolation, I spent years thinking about you—wishing things could have been different. Wishing _I_ could have been different."

"You didn't _need_ to be different, Gilly. You just needed to be there. Or let me be. It didn't matter to me, and I never could make you see that."

Gillian chuckled, but it was mirthless—"No, you couldn't."

"I spent years trying to get over you—and you know what I realized last night?"

Gillian felt her heart speed up—Austin's eyes were intense.

"What?"

"I never did—I'm _still_ not over you, all these years later. I see you, and I'm still that same teenaged boy who loved you more than he loved himself."

"Austin..."

"How is that possible? I didn't know it until last night—if I hadn't seen you, I might never have figured it out." Austin sighed—"Is there," he laughed nervously, "Is there any chance that you feel the same?"

Gillian's heart fell down into her stomach—"Austin…" she started again, but she couldn't make anything follow that. A silence settled between them, and she saw the raw emotion in Austin's eyes. She tried again, unsure of what she would say, she began to speak, "Austin, a part of me will always love you. I realized that last night, too, seeing you again after all these years. You are the best first love I could ever ask for, but…" She trailed off, not knowing how to say the next part.

"But… there's someone else?" Austin finished the sentence for her, a wry smile coming across his face, still beautiful after all these years.

Gillian smiled. "Yes… I suppose there is."

Austin chuckled, "You don't have to be a lie detection expert to see that truth. So, tell him. And if he doesn't treat you right, I'll do the same thing to him that I did to Steven."

* * *

Cal sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes glued to the door, his tiny suitcase packed neatly in the corner. His laptop was propped open on his lap, for appearances only. He'd been like this for the better part of an hour, his gaze alternating between the door and the clock. He knew the fire escape route by heart now, and felt fully confident that he could lead his fellow floor mates to the appropriate fire exit and Safety Rendezvous spot. His eyes focused on the clock—12:31—before they flitted back to the door.

When Gillian's key entered the lock, Cal ripped his eyes from the door, and focused on his laptop, a Word document open and ready. He positioned his fingers on the keys as the door swung open. He typed a few words, then glanced up and closed the machine.

"Hello, love," He said, doing his best to not stare at her intently, while still trying to read her.

"Hello," She said, giving nothing away with her face or her voice.

"How was coffee?" Cal said casually, slipping his laptop into its case.

"It was nice," Gillian said, glancing at the counter in the bathroom. "Good to catch up."

"I already double checked everything—we're all packed." Cal said, standing up and placing his laptop in the pocket of his suitcase. "Your beau's good, then?"

Gillian narrowed her gaze at him, "_Old_ beau, Cal," she said, "Stop fishing."

"Can't, love. Bait's too good." He smiled at her playfully, though relief was flooding his body at the moment.

Gillian rolled her eyes, and smiled in spite of herself.

"Let me just pop these down on to the car, then we can check once more, and check out." Cal said, sliding his phone onto the little desk in the room.

Cal rolled both suitcases behind him, and stood in the elevator, his stomach churning with nerves. He had imagined many nightmare scenarios, all of which ended up with Gillian rekindling her relationship with this charming man who had loved her so much very long ago. _And still does_, Cal mused, closing the trunk on the bags.

When Cal swung open the door, he found Gillian holding his phone, as it bleeped his text message notification over and over and over again.

"Sorry," Gillian said, holding the phone out from her, "It wouldn't stop." She moved to hand the phone to him, "You have 17" The phone bleeped, "18 text messages from Emily. She wants you to 'Tell Her.'" Gillian said, a small smile on her lips, as she placed the phone in Cal's hand.

He knew he should have turned off that bloody display message feature.

"What does she want you to tell, and to whom?" Gillian asked, crossing her arms, a small smirk on her face.

Cal suddenly realized he had two choices—the same way everyone always had two choices—he could lie, or he could tell the truth. Before this weekend, he would have lied, but seeing her with Austin a man so clearly in love with Gillian, had made things much more real—had made things much clearer. Cal was not a romantic man by nature, but he had still never imagined telling Gillian how he felt about her in a hotel room after she'd had a date with an old flame.

"Right. Well, Emily… She has this notion, right. She has this idea, see… Emily's got it in her head that I'm quite madly in love with you, darling."

Gillian's lip quirked, "Oh, _Emily_ has the idea—and just where did she get such a notion."

Cal tucked his phone in his pocket, and splayed his hands out to the side, "Not sure, really—who knows where teenagers get their crazy ideas. Except, maybe she got this _particular_ idea from—well, from the truth, love." Cal shrugged.

Gillian's eyes widened slightly, "So, what you're saying is…"

Trust Gillian to never make things _easy_ for him. "Bloody hell, I'm saying that I'm in love with you, Gillian. I have been for quite a long while now," Cal felt relief and apprehension all at once—it was really all out there now, "And, well, Emily just wanted me to tell you that, and rightfully so."

The silence between them hung in the air, and Cal watched Gillian—he wished for the hundredth time that weekend that he could read her better, that he could read her like he used to.

Gillian bit her lip, "Austin told me he still loved me today," Gillian said, matter-of-factly.

Cal felt his palms begin to sweat, he'd guessed as much, but hearing her confirm it was different.

"And he asked if I felt the same way—" Gillian trailed off, wringing her hands in front of her, "I had to tell him that there's someone else."

Cal grinned, "So, what you're saying is…"

Trust Cal to never make things _easy_ for anyone. "For some reason, Cal, I'm in love with you, too."

"Fabulous choice, darling," Cal said, grinning even wider, closing the distance between them.

Gillian shivered as his breath hit her lips—and soon his lips were on hers, and she couldn't help but smile. He smiled, too, and kissed her again, his hand moving gently through her hair as he pushed his tongue slightly into her mouth, tasting her for the first time, knowing by heart the feel of her, confirming what he'd known all along: he would never get enough of her.

The bleep of another text broke them from their kiss, and they both laughed. Cal pulled out his phone, and fired off a quick text: "I bloody well did." He smirked and turned his phone on silent, happy to make his sweet daughter suffer until he called her from the road hours later to tell her that the news was happy, not sad.

"Come on, darling," Cal said, picking up the dessert menu, "Let's get you a treat for the road, maybe some sort of fancy yogurt covered pretzel…"

"Oh," Gillian smirked, and the look she gave Cal made his mouth dry, "I don't think I'll need any pretzels—I think I'll have _plenty_ of treats to keep me satisfied on the road."

It was going to be a long, glorious drive.

* * *

END.

_A/N: So many years ago I had envisioned this as a story for my OTP Mulder and Scully, but that never came to fruition. However, I am so glad that I got to take these two fabulous characters on this little ride, though it's a shame it took me so long to finish it with them. Thank you for reading, and enjoying this little story as you [hopefully] have along the way._


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